


Psychopomp

by fallingintoplace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Horcruxes, I REALLY don't like Dumbledore, Jealousy, Knights of Walpurgis, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Possessive Tom Riddle, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Scarification, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Politics, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), Time Travel Fix-It, Torture, World War II, more than canon past child abuse because there's no way the Dursleys weren't like that, random bits of history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintoplace/pseuds/fallingintoplace
Summary: psy·cho·pomp:nouna guide of souls to the place of the dead.It's just after the Battle of Hogwarts, and an accident sends Harry tumbling back into the past, straight into Tom Riddle's sixth year. It's 1943 and Harry has been given a massive task he's not sure he can complete. He's the Master of Death, but with so many strong players, who is really the master of who?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 126
Kudos: 779





	1. A Broken Pensieve

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, y'all! This is my first HP fanfic. I have a lot of plans for this, and I'm quite excited. This is unbeta-d so please forgive my mistakes. I'm planning on fudging around with some dates.  
> Anyways, sit back, relax, and enjoy the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, y'all! This is my first HP fanfic. I have a lot of plans for this, and I'm quite excited. This is unbeta-d so please forgive my mistakes. I'm planning on fudging around with some dates. In canon, Myrtle is killed at the end of Tom's fifth year in 1943. I had her get killed at the beginning of sixth year, so Hagrid has already been expelled and the chamber is thought to be closed. Tom's parents have not been killed. Yet ;)  
> Anyways, sit back, relax, and enjoy the story!

The morning after the battle, Harry ended up going back to find the Resurrection Stone. It was a lot easier than he expected. He went back into the Forbidden Forest right at dawn and a simple _Accio_ was all he needed. He took his time walking back to the castle. Some of the dead were still in the Great Hall, and half the castle was destroyed from the battle. Harry’s heart hurt.

Under the invisibility cloak, Harry was able to dodge the groups of people helping to reconstruct the building. He knew they’d want to speak with him, but he just couldn’t yet. Maybe in a few days, when he was ready, he’d be able to talk to anyone other than Ron and Hermione, and the ghosts of the people he’d lost. Even the portraits were clamoring for his attention, but there was only one he wanted to talk to. He walked the familiar path to the headmaster’s office. The gargoyle was still broken, so Harry just headed straight up. Dumbledore’s portrait was there. Harry was angry. Yesterday, he had been incredibly weary, but now he was frustrated and furious. It had taken him a while to process what Dumbledore had done. Every single thing, every decision that had an impact on his life, was coordinated by Dumbledore like Harry was just a marionette, a tool for him to control. It was Dumbledore’s fault that he was left at the Dursleys’, and Dumbledore’s fault for the stone, and for the tournament, and for that awful night at the Ministry. If Dumbledore hadn’t slowly dropped tiny pieces of information that was never enough to complete the picture, so many things, so many deaths could have been avoided.

Harry sat on the headmaster’s desk, just because he could, being careful not to knock the Pensieve over. He stared at Dumbledore’s portrait for a long while before speaking. “Did you ever try and think of a different way? A way where I didn’t die?” Harry knew the answer but asked anyways. Dumbledore looked at Harry, not even bothering to pretend that he felt guilty or ashamed.

“It was for the Greater Good, my boy.”

“I’m sure it was,” Harry scoffed. “You just didn’t want to face him yourself because you were a coward. You knew Sirius was innocent, didn’t you? You were the one who made Pettigrew the Secret Keeper. Why did you let him suffer in Azkaban for so longer?” Dumbledore didn’t answer. “Is it because you wanted me to be kept weak? To be so starved for affection so I’d do anything you asked? You knew how bad the Dursleys were, yet you forced me to stay there no matter how many times I begged!” Harry hopped of the desk and started pacing. “You’re lucky I didn’t end up like Riddle.”

“Harry, you never could’ve become like Tom. You have too kind of a heart.”

“Do you remember the diary back in my second year? He showed me how you treated him. You showed me yourself! When you met him at the orphanage, you were cruel. Who knows what he could’ve become if he wasn’t treated like he was evil from the moment he learned about magic! Everything that happened was your fault, but you made other people suffer for your mistakes.

“I didn’t mean for thi-”

“How many times did you let other people clean up your mistakes? You waited so long to take down Grindelwald because you were afraid that you killed your sister. Your cowardice caused years of suffering.” Harry looked at the portrait. “And you don’t even feel guilty!”

The other portraits in the room were muttering now, glaring at Dumbledore. Harry sat down again. “I went back for the Resurrection Stone, you know.”

“Why? You told me you weren’t going to.”

“I had to. I have to say goodbye to so many people. And you’re not one to judge. You put a cursed ring on just to see your sister. Did you ever find out who did kill Ariana?” Dumbledore looked down and gave a tiny shake of his head. “Why don’t we find out?”

Harry held the Stone tightly, not quite sure how it was supposed to work. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the picture of Ariana that Aberforth had in his pub. When he heard Dumbledore gasp, he opened his eyes to see the ghostly form of Ariana Dumbledore. She looked at Harry kindly. She then turned to face Dumbledore. “Deep down, you always knew it was you who cast that last spell. I think that’s the only thing you’ve ever felt guilty about, despite all the crimes you’ve committed and all the hurt you caused.” She shook her head. “You disgust me.” Harry let go of the Stone, and Ariana faded away.

Harry sighed. He pulled out the Elder Wand from the moke-skin bag Hagrid had given him. He wrapped the Wand and the Stone in the Cloak, and slipped it back into the bag again. He was more than fine with his holly wand. “You know, I don’t think I hate you. I don’t have enough energy to.” And Harry really didn’t. He hadn’t even bothered to try to sleep last night, instead sitting in the Astronomy Tower. It was morning now, and he was still wearing the filthy clothes from the battle. He hadn’t been sleeping well for who knows how long. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw people dying. Sometimes it was Cedric and Sirius and Remus, but other times it was people he knew were still alive. He’d see Hermione tortured by Bellatrix until eventually she was killed, and he saw Neville being burnt alive by the Sorting Hat. He couldn’t stand his own thoughts and memories anymore.

Memories. He knew how to get out of his head, at least for a while. The cupboard below the one that usually held the Pensieve was filled with small bottles of memories. Harry gathered them all and dumped them into the Pensieve on the desk. He was about to dip his face into it when the door opened, and Harry jumped. He knocked over the Pensieve and it crashed onto the floor. Luna was standing there.

“Hello, Harry. I just wanted to say goodbye before you leave.”

Harry had bent down, looking at the cracked Pensieve. There was a memory that was leaking out. “Luna, I’m not going anywhere.” Harry touched the memory that was slowly oozing from the crack, and he was pulled through and dropped heavily on the floor.

***

Tom was having a normal day up until a person materialized from thin air and fell to the floor. He would’ve hit Tom if he hadn’t had quick reflexes. Well, it was a normal day if you considered asking your professor about making multiple Horcruxes normal. But that was besides the point. The point was that someone was pointing a wand at him, face filled with terror and covered with dust and dried blood. The man stared at Tom, horrified, then said, “I’m not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to haunt me anymore!” Then Slughorn cast a rather belated stunning spell, and the man crumpled to the floor.

Tom turned to Slughorn. “That was strange,” he said mildly. Slughorn was gasping as if casting one spell wore him out. He was obviously scared, and it disgusted Tom. Slughorn was weak. Useful at times, but still weak.

“Tom, would you mind staying here while I go find the headmaster? I trust that you can keep everything under control.” Slughorn gestured towards the prone body.

“Don’t worry, professor. I can stay here.”

Slughorn sighed in relief. “You’re a good lad, Tom.” He waddled out of the room surprisingly briskly for a man of his size. He took the Slytherin trait of self-preservation to the extreme, into outright cowardice. It was embarrassing to have him as the head of the House. But now Tom was alone, and he could freely investigate the stranger.

Up close, he realized the stranger was too young to be a man. Underneath all of the grime, he seemed quite young, around Tom’s age or maybe younger. Even in unconsciousness, his face was tight and stressed, with furrowed brows and a downturned mouth. Tom prodded the boy’s arm with his foot and grimaced at the smudge of dirt that had wiped off onto the previously clean leather of his shoe. The boy’s hand flopped over, and his wand fell onto the floor. Tom picked it up. It felt warm and made his hand tingle slightly, but it didn’t feel quite so _alive_ as his own. It was curious. He had held other people’s wands before, but none of them felt warm like this.

Tom sat on his haunches and continued to examine the boy. He had black hair and an overall short and small body. He looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in ages. The clothes he wore were absolutely wrecked, filled with holes and tears and was permanently stained with blood and other unknown substances. He smelled like sweat, dust, and desperation. Tom stood back up just in time for Slughorn to return, followed by Dumbledore and Headmaster Dippet. Slughorn stepped aside to allow the two other professors room to examine the body.

“We should take him to the hospital wing,” Dippet said. Dumbledore cast a spell to levitate the body and started to exit the room, not before sending Tom a glare like the situation was somehow _his_ fault. Tom tried to follow them out, but Dumbledore stopped him.

“You should stay here, Riddle.” Tom tightened his jaw, but nodded as Dumbledore and Dippet left the room, leaving Slughorn behind.

“Professor, I picked up his wand. Should I give it to you or bring it to the hospital wing?”

“The hospital wing, please, Tom. I have other things I must do right now.” Tom was pretty sure that Slughorn’s “other things” included eating the crystallized pineapple Tom had given him and indulging in a bit too much alcohol. It didn’t matter to Tom, though, because he had an excuse to go to the hospital wing and find out what happened.

Dumbledore didn’t look pleased when Tom walked in, but before Dumbledore could open his mouth, Tom spoke. “Sorry to intrude, but you left behind his wand. What do you like me to do with it, Headmaster?”

“I’ll take it. Thank you, Tom.”

Tom smiled. “It was nothing, sir. I just wanted to help.”

“You should go on and leave now, Riddle,” Dumbledore said brusquely. Tom suppressed his anger so his smile wouldn’t waver.

“Yes sir, professor.” Tom had no plans of leaving, of course, so he opened the door of the hospital wing wider than necessary, disillusioned himself in the hallway, and slipped back in right before the door shut. Tom had a right to be there. It was him who had almost gotten crushed! And, anyways, because of this mysterious boy, Slughorn never answered his questions about Horcruxes.

***

Harry woke with a pounding headache. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the familiar sight of the hospital wing’s ceiling, and an unfamiliar face dressed as a healer. He closed his eyes, then reopened them, and though it was a woman, she still wasn’t Madam Pomfrey. He tried to sit up, but she tutted at him and pushed him gently back onto the bed.

“Good. You’re awake. Are you currently in pain anywhere?” Harry tried to speak but could only cough. He pointed at his head, hoping she’d understand. “I’ll get you a pain killer potion and some water. After that, Headmaster Dippet has some questions for you.” Headmaster _Dippet_? Harry was still mildly stunned by the time the matron came back. He choked down the potion first, before slowly savoring the water. It felt blessedly cold in his throat. As soon as he finished his water, two people pulled up chairs next to his bed. He recognized Dippet from his portrait in the Headmaster’s office but was startled by what appeared to be a young Dumbledore, still with auburn hair and sharp blue eyes. He avoided eye contact with either one.

“What’s your name, young man?” Dippet asked.

“It’s Harry, sir.”

“And your family name?”

“Harry Peverell, sir.” Harry had no idea why he went with Peverell instead of Potter, but it seemed to just feel right on his tongue, like it belonged there and belonged to him. When he said Peverell, though, Dumbledore sat up straighter and looked at Harry almost hungrily.

“Alright, Mr. Peverell. Do you know where you are?”

Harry had the sudden urge to play dumb. “No, sir.”

“You are in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. I am the current headmaster here. Hogwarts has some of the strongest wards in Britain, which is why it was quite a shock for you to just appear here. Do you know how you got here?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” While it was the truth, Harry still felt guilty. He had no idea what had happened, but Headmaster Dippet seemed kind and he didn’t want to disappoint him. He’d need all the help he could get.

Dippet just sighed, like he expected that answer. “That’s alright. Can you tell me what the last things you can remember are?”

“All I remember is a battle, sir. So many people died.” There was no harm sticking close to the truth, even though it was hard for him to think about the past. “And-and one of my friends came up to me to say good-bye. Then I woke up here.”

“Do you think this friend of yours did something that caused you to end up here?”

“I doubt it, sir.” And Harry did. The only thing Luna was guilty of was startling him. He knocked over the Pensieve, then touched the memory. He felt sick. He must’ve been pulled into the leaking memory. He remembered seeing Tom Riddle and Slughorn briefly and felt even more ill. He was sure where he was, now, and when it was. The Pensieve had somehow dropped him into Tom Riddle’s sixth year. Harry looked up at Dippet. “I don’t know how to go home. I don’t know if I have a home.”

“Don’t fret, lad. We’ll help you home. Until then, you can stay here. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen, sir.”

“Wonderful! We can get you enrolled here. Have you taken your OWLs, young man?” Harry shook his head. He hadn’t yet since he technically took them over 40 years in the future. “That’s alright. I’ll send an owl to the Ministry and we can set you up to take some of the exams. Usually, students who are seventeen are in the seventh year, but since the school year is nearly half over, I think we shall put you with the sixth years. I’ll let you rest, now. We’ll get you enrolled and Sorted tomorrow morning. Welcome to Hogwarts!” With that, Dippet slapped his knee, stood up, and left. Dumbledore lingered a little longer, still watching at Harry.

Harry slept poorly that night, his dreams filled hungry eyes, evil laughs, and the screams of the people he lost.


	2. Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I have a new chapter! Be prepared for a deluge of expository information needed before we can get started on the main plot, as well as an appearance from really creepy/possessive Tom. I love making Dumbledore unhappy.

In another part of the castle, all the way up in the Gryffindor tower, Charlus Potter was panicking. He couldn’t find the Cloak anywhere, and he knew he’d be in trouble with his father if he came home for Christmas break without it. In a small, grubby shack outside of Little Hangleton, Morfin Gaunt lost the last bit of his mind that remained when he couldn’t find his ancestral ring. He knew the Riddles must have taken it, for they took the locket too. He killed the three Riddles and was found in the morning laughing hysterically next to their bodies. All the way across the English Channel, Grindelwald was furious, cursing anyone who stepped close to him with his old wand, for the Elder Wand had disappeared.

***

Harry woke up in the middle of the night to a whisper. “ _Hello, Harry.”_

“Who’s there?” Harry looked wildly about the room, but he couldn’t see anyone hidden in the shadows.

“ _You know who I am. We’ve met before._ ” Harry’s heart sank. It couldn’t be the Horcrux, could it? “ _No, foolish boy. I am so much more powerful than a mere Horcrux._ ”

“Get out of my head!”

The voice laughed eerily, a dusty chuckle that made Harry’s bones ache. “ _You know I can’t do that. You united the Hallows, so I’m here to stay._ ” With a sinking feeling, Harry knew who the voice was. “ _You’re right. I am Death. And I have a task for you._ ”

“I thought I was supposed to be the Master?”

“ _Hush, child. You don’t need to speak for me to hear you. You can never know who is listening._ ” Harry looked around again, fearful that Dumbledore was suddenly there. “ _Do not worry. The one you fear is not here. The true meaning of story of the Three Brothers was lost over time. Death bows to no master. The one who united the Hallows would be Death’s Champion. Immortal, yes, but only so you can do my bidding. I oftentimes find myself hindered by the lack of a corporeal body, so it is your job now to complete the tasks I cannot do myself. I have waited so long for my Champion, Harry._ ”

Harry was panicking. How was he supposed to do things Death itself could not do? “ _I’ll be there to help. Follow your instincts knowing that I am guiding you. You will also find outside help along the way._ ” But what was the task he had to do? “ _You must remove all Horcruxes ever to be made. You must work backwards, starting with young Tom Riddle here, and ending with Herpo the Foul before eradicating any knowledge of those abominations from this Earth. You will never know peace until you have finished this job.”_ Death’s voice softened, if it was even possible. “ _I know this is a heavy burden to bear, young Champion. I will aide you as much as I can._ ”

Harry couldn’t breathe. Death was just like Dumbledore, sending him on an impossible task. “ _I am nothing like Dumbledore,_ ” Death scoffed. _“I will not withhold important information, and I will guide you to the best of my ability. It is not my goal to manipulate you, nor do I want you to sacrifice yourself._ ” At least Death was honest. Harry just didn’t know where to start. “ _Destroy the Horcrux and kill the one who made it. After that, I will destroy their souls. You can start at Gringotts. The goblins will have some tools for you._ ”

Alright, then. Harry had a place to start, and a person to start with. It just didn’t seem quite fair to Harry. As easily as he could’ve turned out like Tom, maybe Tom could’ve ended up like Harry. But now he’d never get a chance. It was a shame, but he supposed that Death had never been fair, much less now. “ _Wonderful! I knew there was a reason why you became my Champion._ ” Harry could feel Death’s delight. “ _Tom is the only creator of Horcruxes that could have had a different path. He has already made one Horcrux, but it is not too late to heal his soul. I left the Horcrux in your head to seal the two halves whole._ ” Harry was not pleased about that, but his body felt strangely empty, and he knew that Death had left. For now, at least.

Harry got out of bed and started pacing. His muscles were sore, and his body ached, but it felt good to be moving. He was worried about getting Sorted later. He doubted that the Hat would listen to him a second time, so Harry just resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be a Slytherin. He’d be a Slytherin at the same time as Tom Riddle, which terrified him. Harry remembered how the Horcrux in the diary so easily manipulated him. He was worried it wouldn’t be any different, even though he was much older than twelve.

Harry stretched. He felt filthy. He realized that he hadn’t bathed for days, and his hair was greasy and matted. He couldn’t find his wand, but someone had left a clean change of clothes on the bedside table, so he snagged them and hoped that the bathroom in the hospital wing was located in the same place as back in his time. It was, and Harry was glad. He had missed the Hogwarts baths filled with warm water and pleasant bubbles, though he only wanted to take a brief shower right now. He needed to get the dirt, blood, and the memories they came with off.

He glanced at the mirror, but he barely recognized himself. Underneath everything, his skin was wan, and his eyes had large dark circles under them. His face looked different, thinner with higher cheekbones. The most noticeable difference was his hair. It was no longer the quintessential Potter hair. Though still black, it was now slightly wavy and slightly longer, and he knew that he could make it manageable with only a third of the product that Malfoy used to use. Really, the only things that stayed the same were his green eyes, though they did seem a little larger, and the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Death must have changed his appearance. It wouldn’t do for him to look like a Potter, Harry thought bitterly, but Death didn’t respond.

He turned away from the mirror. He just wanted to be clean. Harry hoped that maybe Death had gotten rid of some of his other scars, but he wasn’t so lucky. Instead, right in the center of his sternum, was another lightning bolt scar from when he faced his death in the Forbidden Forest. Harry felt chilled, and even the hot water of the shower couldn’t warm him up.

The clean clothes were too big, but Harry didn’t mind. He mindlessly Banished his old clothes. There was no need to keep them anymore. He headed back to his bed, but he doubted he’d get any more sleep that night.

***

Tom had fallen asleep on the floor. He wanted to be there when Dippet came back in the morning and thought it easier to just stay the night. He was rather regretting the decision to sleep on the floor, though, because he woke up extremely stiff when he heard someone shout, “Who’s there?”

Tom panicked, worried that his Disillusionment charm had worn off, and that Peverell had spotted him, but his charm had held and his fears were assuaged when Peverell said something about “getting out of his head.” Tom was curious, even more so at the next thing Peverell said. What did he mean about how he was supposed to be the master? The master of what? Peverell was getting more and more interesting. He watched as Peverell’s expressions switched from scared, to angry, and then finally to a type of sad resignation, like he knew he shouldn’t bother fighting back. Tom wondered what he was thinking about.

Tom usually wasn’t so interested by other people. But when Peverell had nearly fallen on top of him Tom could nearly _taste_ his magic it was so strong. Then when his wand warmed up in Tom’s hand, he just got more intrigued. That had to mean something, some type of connection. Because Tom wanted him, even more so when he saw the greedy look on Dumbledore’s face when he heard Peverell’s name. If Dumbledore wanted him, he surely had some value, and Tom was going to make Peverell his before Dumbledore got a chance to get his filthy claws around him. And even if Peverell wasn’t valuable, the idea of getting the better of Dumbledore was irresistible.

When Peverell collected the clean clothes on the bedside table and headed toward the bathroom, Tom got up, too, and silently padded after him. Tom supposed Peverell was rather handsome, though a bit too skinny for his taste. What really interested him as he watched Peverell undress was the sheer quantity of scars that absolutely covered his body. Many of them seemed to be mundane in origin, but some were definitely caused by magic. There was a massive burn scar winding around half of his torso, and an inflamed cut on his arm that looked like it was from a cursed weapon. Tom wanted to know the story behind every scar. They were only adding to the mystery of who Peverell was. Then, when Peverell windlessly and wordlessly Banished his old ragged clothes, Tom knew he was going to have to recruit him. He couldn’t allow someone with that much power and control over magic be anything but a loyal follower.

Peverell headed back to bed, and Tom followed, sitting on the floor again, but this time casting a Cushioning Charm. He regretted not doing that last night. Peverell didn’t fall back asleep, but it was only a few more hours until morning, so Tom just sat, contemplating Peverell and speculating why he had caught Dumbledore’s interest. He knew that Peverell was an ancient name that he thought had died out, but apparently, he was wrong. He’d need to do more research about that family.

Dippet finally arrived with the Sorting Hat, with Dumbledore following behind like an eager puppy. He was being too obvious about his interest, and it would only push Peverell away, hopefully towards Tom. Dippet explained a bit about Hogwarts, its history, and about the classes and House system, before placing the Sorting Hat on Peverell’s head. The Sorting took a long time, and Tom wondered what Houses the Hat was considering. He grinned, quite pleased, when the Hat finally announced “Slytherin.” He was even more happy at Dumbledore’s crestfallen face. Somehow, Peverell hadn’t taken his OWLs yet, so Dippet decided that he would take them over Christmas break. Tom was a bit regretful that he had agreed to spend break with the Blacks, but he knew it was too late to back out, especially considering they were throwing a Yule ball. It would be an excellent opportunity to socialize and make new contacts.

Just as Dippet was getting ready to leave, Peverell spoke up. “I’m sorry to ask this, sir, but would there be any way I could go to Gringotts? If anything, they’ll know if I have any relatives left, and if I don’t, I might have enough money to pay tuition.”

“That’s a good idea, lad. I will find someone to escort you,” said Dippet.

“I am willing to do it,” Dumbledore interjected eagerly.

“Thank you for offering, Albus, but I think I’ll ask Horace. He is Mr. Peverell’s Head of House.” Tom decided that the look of disappointment on Dumbledore’s face was the best thing he had ever seen, secondary to the Chamber of Secrets, of course. This was too easy. Slughorn was lazy, and it wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to let Tom escort Peverell.

Tom followed Dippet and Dumbledore out of the hospital wing. He ducked into a secret passage, canceled his Disillusionment Charm, and took his time to Slughorn’s office, arriving just as Dippet was leaving.

Slughorn greeted Tom cheerily, patting him on the back as Tom entered the office. “Tom, my boy! What can I do for you today?”

“Hello, professor. I was just wondering how the person from yesterday is doing.” Tom schooled his expression into one of innocent worry, and Slughorn took the bait. “He seemed in bad shape and I wanted to make sure he was alright.”

“Mr. Peverell will be fine. Actually, he’ll be enrolling at Hogwarts after break. He’ll be in Slytherin, in your year.” Slughorn gave Tom a sly look. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be busy today? It is a Saturday so you don’t have classes.”

“I have nothing planned but studying, sir.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Always so serious! Would you be willing to escort Mr. Peverell to Diagon Alley this afternoon? He needs to go to Gringotts, as well as purchase some necessities. I’d go, but I find myself quite buried in work today. And it would do Mr. Peverell some good to make a friend.”

“I can escort him, sir. You must be incredibly busy, always working hard on being a good professor.” Maybe Tom was laying it on a bit thick, but he was gleeful. It was too easy.

“You’re a good lad, Tom. I know you’ll go far one day. Come, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Peverell and get you two a Portkey.

Tom followed Slughorn back to the hospital wing. Peverell was up, walking around, likely trying to stretch his legs. He turned around abruptly when he heard the two of them enter. Peverell looked at Tom uneasily, reminding him of yesterday when Peverell told him to stop haunting him. Tom would have to follow up on that. He was sure he had never met Peverell before. He’d remember those bright green eyes.

“Hello, sir. Are you Professor Slughorn?” Peverell asked. “Headmaster Dippet told me that you would take me to Gringotts.”

Slughorn seemed bored with Peverell. He must not be able to feel the power that was saturating the room. For someone who collected talented people, Slughorn was not the best at finding the hidden gems. “I am Professor Slughorn, but I won’t be the one to escort you today. I’m quite occupied with grading, especially with the fall semester coming to a close. I have Tom here to escort you instead. He’s also a Slytherin in your year and will be an excellent guide for you.”

Peverell seemed almost horrified, but quickly tried to wipe away his expression. He wouldn’t survive long in Slytherin if he couldn’t figure out how to hide his emotions. Then Peverell set his shoulders back and offered his hand to Tom. “I’m Harry Peverell. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

“You as well. I’m Tom Riddle.” They shook hands, and Tom felt that tingle again, the one from when he picked up Peverell’s wand. From the look in Peverell’s eyes, he felt it too but didn’t expect it. Tom knew there was no way he’d let Peverell be just an acquaintance.

Slughorn passed Tom the portkey, a simple empty potion vial. “It’s set to return when both of you touch it. I didn’t set a specific time because I didn’t know how long you might need at the bank. Please try to return before dinner, though.” Tom nodded and took the portkey.

“Shall we?” Tom offered the portkey to Peverell, who nodded. Tom never particularly liked traveling via portkey, but it was obvious that it disagreed with Peverell even more. Tom had to stifle a chuckle as he watched Peverell nearly fall over as the portkey delivered them right outside the marble steps of Gringotts. Peverell caught him staring, and blushed. “It’s alright. Magical travel doesn’t agree with everyone.”

“I prefer brooms,” Peverell muttered petulantly. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

“After you,” Tom gestured towards the stairs. Peverell stopped briefly at the warning inscribed in the doors but shook his head and continued on. It was rather disturbing, because as soon as they entered the bank proper, every goblin turned to look at Peverell, even the ones who were in the middle of a transaction. It seemed like Peverell was equally shocked, though Tom hid it better.

One of the goblins came towards them. “Mr. Peverell, we have been expecting you. Follow me.” Peverell looked stunned, but followed anyways, with Tom just a step behind. They were led deeper into the bank, towards where the actual offices were. The goblin stopped in front of a heavy silver door, which opened at the goblin’s touch. “Enter here, Mr. Peverell.” Tom tried to follow, but the goblin blocked his entrance and the door slammed shut.

Tom grit his teeth angrily. He wanted to know what they were talking about, and he assumed the door was immune to listening charms. He also knew that it was never a good idea to be on the bad side of a goblin, so he waited grumpily for Peverell to finish.

After about three hours, Peverell finally came out, looking vaguely ill.

“Peverell, are you alright?” He really did look like he was about to faint. Peverell shook his head.

“There’s no one left.” His eyes briefly flicked up to meet Tom’s but didn’t maintain eye contact long enough for him to attempt Legilimency. “They made me a lord.”

***

Harry was grateful that the goblins didn’t let Tom into the room with him. It had been unnerving, with all of the goblins watching him, and Tom watching him, too. He had never been in an office at Gringotts, so he stopped for a moment, awestruck at the room. It was carven straight from rock, with etched designs along the walls. It was well lit from some unknown source, as the whole room was bathed in soft light. Harry thought that the room would be a calm and relaxing place if it wasn’t for the collection of deadly weapons adorning the walls. He suddenly wondered if the goblins knew what he did in the future. He hoped not.

“Welcome, Champion of Death. Please have a seat.” The chairs in front of the desk looked hard and cold but were surprisingly comfortable. The goblin on the other side was the oldest goblin Harry had ever seen. “I am Ragnuk. I have been instructed by Death to provide you with some items to help you on your quest, as well as offer you access to the Peverell vaults.”

“Thank you, Ragnuk. I am grateful for any help.” Harry offered Ragnuk a smile, but the old goblin just harrumphed and carried on.

“Firstly, I have a list of the names of everyone who has ever created a Horcrux. Secondly, I have something called a Continuance Counter. It is similar to a Time Turner in that it allows you to travel back in time, but it is far more useful. You are able to travel any length of time back and can choose when to return. Its one restriction is that you cannot travel forward in time. Usually, time travel comes with great risks, but Death told me to assure you that you will not create any temporal paradoxes.” The Continuance Counter looked like a heavy watch with multiple clock faces and was covered with runes. “Left hand please, Mr. Peverell.” Ragnuk put the watch onto Harry’s wrist, and laughed when Harry hissed in pain. The watch had stabbed him! “Maybe I should have mentioned. The Counter requires a blood sample to function. It’s now bound to your magic.”

“I have two more things for you, then a recommendation, and finally a request. Under Death’s instructions, I crafted a dagger for you. Its blade has been soaked in basilisk venom, so it will easily be able to dispatch any Horcruxes you find. Please don’t touch the blade, as it will give you an agonizing death. Or do, because I am not sure if you can die. It would be an interesting experiment.” Harry did not like the bloodthirsty look on Ragnuk’s face.

“Lastly, you are to accept the Lordship of the House of Peverell. I have the Lord ring here. It will allow you to access the Peverell vaults, as well as multiple ancestral Peverell properties. I will owl you folders of information about your holdings later this week so you can review them.”

Ragnuk pulled out a small box, before opening the lid. Harry didn’t know exactly what he was expecting the ring to look like, but it definitely wasn’t what he was looking at. The ring was a silver ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. There was no coat of arms are family seal, though the inside of the ring was inscribed with runes that Harry could not read. He really should have taken Ancient Runes instead of Divination.

“Do I have to do anything or can I just put the ring on?”

“Write the line ‘I accept the Peverell Lordship,’ sign your name, then draw the Peverell symbol. I trust that you know what it is. After that, you can put the ring on the ring finger of your right hand.”

Ragnuk handed Harry a piece of parchment and a suspicious looking black quill. Harry started writing the line and wasn’t surprised when he felt the familiar sting of a blood quill, though it burned on his chest and not on his hand. One line wouldn’t scar, so Harry didn’t worry. He assumed that the Peverell symbol was the same as the Deathly Hallows symbol, so he drew that, then put down the quill. Ragnuk pushed the box with the ring across the table towards Harry. Taking a breath, he slipped the ring onto his finger, and almost instantly blacked out from the pain.

He woke up on the stone floor of the office. The skin right above his heart still burned like dragon fire, but he was able to focus despite it. “What happened?”

“The ring tested your magic and found you acceptable. It marked you, and you marked it.” Harry glanced at the ring and noticed that the snake now had open eyes that were slowly blinking. The eyes were emeralds, the same color as his own. “Congratulations, Lord Peverell. You’re lucky the ring accepted you. Otherwise, it would have stripped you of your magic.”

“I’d appreciate a warning next time,” Harry grumbled.

“There won’t be a next time. You will be the last Lord Peverell.” Harry stood up, grimacing, and sat back down in his chair. He waited for Ragnuk to speak. “My recommendation is this. When you enter the Peverell vaults, seek out the books that have information about Horcruxes. There should also be a guide on how to use your Continuance Counter. You might also wish to find the original copy of Beedle the Bard’s tales. They might be useful.”

“Thank you, Ragnuk. You said you have a request for me?”

“I am an old goblin, Lord Peverell. I have crafted many beautiful things over my lifetime, and most have found their way back to me. Everything but two. One is the dagger I gave you. That is yours to keep. The other is the sword you wizards know as the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. It should have been returned to me many centuries ago, and I would like to have it back before I pass on. I ask you to find a way to return it to me.”

“I’ll do my best, Ragnuk. Thank you again for all of your help.” Harry stood up to leave, putting the list and the dagger into his moke-skin bag.

“I don’t envy your burden, young Champion of Death, but I have faith that you will succeed.”

Harry felt oddly touched by that. “Thank you.”

Tom was waiting impatiently outside of the office. Harry glanced at his new watch and was surprised at how much time had passed.

“Peverell, are you alright?”

Harry shook his head. Remembering why Tom thought he was there, he mumbled, “There’s no one left. They made me a lord.” Harry wasn’t able to read what was in Tom’s eyes, but he knew it wasn’t pity. “I have to go down to the vault.” Alone, Harry thought.

“I’ll come with,” Tom said swiftly, before flagging down one of the cart attendants. Harry was almost sure that it was a very young Griphook, but he couldn’t quite tell for certain. The cart felt far smaller with Riddle than it ever did with Hagrid. At least with Riddle, he didn’t have to worry about getting vomited on.

The Peverell vault was very deep down into the bowels of Gringotts. They passed the dragon that Harry released in the future, and he suddenly longed for home. He missed having Ron and Hermione by his side.

When they reached the vault, Harry once again had to give a little bit of blood to open the door. The vault was massive, filled with piles of gold and an immeasurable number of magical artifacts. Fortunately for Harry, there was a table at the front with a large bag of gold and four books stacked and neatly tied together with some string. He grabbed the books and put them in his bag with all of his other things.

Harry could tell Tom was having a hard time controlling his amazement at the size of the vault. Harry was shocked, too, but he had almost expected something overwhelming. It seemed like Death didn’t do things halfway.

“I have what I need,” Harry said. “We should leave soon. That took longer than I expected.” They all climbed into the cart again and were quickly back on the street level. Harry thanked the goblin on his way out.

“Where to next, Peverell?” Tom asked.

“I think I should get clothes first, then stop at the bookstore to get an owl-order catalog. I don’t know yet what classes I will be taking.” Harry frowned, a little irritated. He wasn’t looking forward to taking the OWLs again. Maybe he could get a better score in History if he didn’t black out again. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Riddle.”

“I promised Professor Slughorn that I’d stay with you. I don’t break promises. Where are you planning on going for your clothing?”

“Madame Malkins?”

Tom scoffed. “You are a Lord and you should dress like one. We will go to Twilfitt and Tattings. Follow me.” Harry trailed after him. He had never enjoyed shopping, and he doubted that being with baby Voldemort would make it any more appealing. Tom was waiting for him impatiently outside of the store. “Come on, Peverell. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

The moment they entered the store, the seamstresses pounced on them. Tom started chatting with one of them while another started measuring Harry. He couldn’t hear what Tom was saying but saw him gesturing towards Harry. Then they both walked over to him and started discussing what styles and colors would look good on him, completely ignoring anything he said. He felt his face go red when they started talking about what undergarments he’d need, all while various bolts of fabric flew to him so they could compare colors and fabric.

It ended up taking not as long as Harry was expecting. He was able to leave with two sets of the uniform as well as a myriad of other clothes, with the promise of receiving more in the mail, along with a set of dress robes. Harry shoved his purchases into has bag, still blushing furiously. Tom kept glancing at his bag, and Harry was grateful for once that Hagrid liked to give gifts with teeth.

They entered Flourish and Blotts briefly, getting the catalog without buying anything else. They were reaching the other end of Diagon Alley when they passed Eeylops Owl Emporium. Harry stopped for a moment. “Do you want an owl?” Tom asked?

Harry shook his head. “I had one as my familiar. I don’t think I could get another. It feels like betraying her.”

“What happened to her?”

“Someone killed her,” Harry said bitterly. “Her name was Hedwig.” They stood silently for a moment, with Harry ignoring Riddle’s stare.

“If not an owl, would you be interested in a different pet? The Magical Menagerie is a few stores down.”

A different pet? Harry hadn’t even thought of that, but it seemed like a good idea. Animals were good for helping regulate both magic and emotions. “Let’s go. What do you think I should get?”

“Maybe a cat?”

“Cats make me sneeze,” Harry said. He had an idea. He wasn’t sure if it was his own, or if Death was prompting him, but he went with it anyways. “I should get a snake. I’ve always been partial to them. I was incredibly jealous when I heard that some wizards could speak to them.” They had reached the store by that point and headed to the back where all the reptiles were kept. Harry immediately knew which one he wanted. A small boomslang was staring at him. All of the other snakes were babbling nonsense to each other, but that one snake only had focus for Harry. Harry spoke to the shopkeeper and paid his two galleons for the little snake. The snake kept slithering over Harry’s hands before finally deciding to wind itself around Harry’s right wrist. He ignored how excited Tom seemed, instead stroking the bright green snake’s head.

“I think I’ll call you Asmodeus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that it was interesting how the word "Champion" has two meanings that seem almost like opposites. Fairy tales change meaning as they are told and retold.  
> Also, Harry can talk to snakes, he's just choosing to hide it. I'm also messing around with dates a bit. In canon, Myrtle is killed at the end of Tom's sixth year. I had her get killed at the beginning, so Hagrid has already been expelled and the chamber is thought to be closed.


	3. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! Welcome to Chapter 3! Once again, there's more exposition as we find out more about Harry's quest and Tom's goals. I'm sorry that my chapters will be all over the place in terms of length. Anyhoo, onto the story!

Seven. Of course there had to be seven. Harry stared at the list Ragnuk gave him of all the wizards, and apparently a few witches, that had made Horcruxes. Starting with Herpo the Foul and ending with Tom Riddle as the seventh, Harry finally realized how massive of a task he had been given.

Harry was sitting in the Room of Requirement on Christmas Day. It was the first bit of free time he had had since arriving, and he was using it to start planning what he was going to do once Tom had reabsorbed his Horcrux. The Room had set itself up similar to the offices Harry had seen on those CSI shows that Dudley liked to watch. He had a large bulletin board covering one of the walls, and he had sectioned it off into seven parts. The list itself didn’t have any information besides the name, location, and a year for each of his targets, but Harry was sure he’d be able to find more information about them in the books he had been given by Death.

Harry briefly wondered if Tom had liked the gift he had gotten him. The owl-order system was quite useful since Harry hadn’t been able to leave the castle since Saturday. When Harry and Tom had returned from Diagon Alley, Harry had immediately been whisked off to Dippet’s office. All the students left on Sunday morning, and Harry had been stuck in the nearly empty castle since then.

Dippet had explained that he’d take his OWLs over the course of the holiday break and he’d have a schedule planned out before classes resumed in the New Year. He also gave Harry back his wand, which Harry was grateful for. Harry was not pleased about having to retake his OWLs, but he understood why it was necessary. He had taken three OWLs a day from Monday through Wednesday, and only two on Thursday since it was Christmas Eve. Harry received his scores rather promptly, which was nice since he had been quite worried about scoring well. It had been a very long time since he had sat down for the OWLs and he wasn’t sure how much he was able to remember. All in all, he was rather pleased with his scores. They were similar to what he had gotten before, if not slightly better. He had gotten an O in Defense, but that was almost a given considering he was quite skilled due to necessity. He’d also gotten Os in Transfiguration and Charms as well. He’d gotten EE in Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Potions, as well as an A in Astronomy, Divination, and History of Magic. It turns out that staying fully conscious during an exam does wonders for your score. Curiously, he had gotten EEs on both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. He had never studied either of them, and his only knowledge was what had rubbed off on him from Hermione, yet he managed to do extremely well. He had felt Death guiding his hand and influencing his answers, so he assumed that Death really wanted Harry to take those two classes. He wasn’t going to complain. He had always regretted choosing to take Divination as an elective. It was completely useless to him. Once again, he should have listened to Hermione.

Harry planned on taking Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and History of Magic for his classes. It would be more challenging than what he had chosen in his own time, but he thought all of the classes would be useful to him in his future. He didn’t really care about what career he wanted. He needed to destroy all of the Horcruxes before he could think of what he wanted to do with his life. Until then, his life wasn’t even his own.

Harry had been staying in the Slytherin dorm. He had the place to himself, as it seemed like every Slytherin student had went home for the holiday. Harry had taken the bed closest to the door, as it was the only one that didn’t have someone’s belongings around it. He really hoped his bed wasn’t next to Tom’s. It would be hard enough just living with him. He had enjoyed sleeping in on Christmas morning, and had been pleasantly surprised to find two gifts when he woke up. Dippet had given him a Slytherin scarf, as well as a note welcoming him to Hogwarts. The other gift was a set of lurid quills in various violently bright colors from Dumbledore. Harry promptly burned them then Banished the ash that remained. He wondered why Dumbledore had given him a gift, then realized that Dumbledore knew the association between the name “Peverell” and the Deathly Hallows. Dumbledore most likely thought he could use Harry to find the Hallows, but there was no way he was going to let Dumbledore use him again.

It was incredibly awkward staying in an empty room like the dorms, so Harry spent most of his time now in the Room of Requirement, only leaving to get food. He wasn’t _completely_ alone. He had Asmodeus, who was either chasing conjured rats or napping around Harry’s neck. He’d chat idly to the snake, but Asmodeus often ignored him. Apparently, he really hated the name but Harry couldn’t change it. He didn’t want Tom to know that he could speak to snakes. The snake was also miffed because Harry had told him that they couldn’t talk to each other in front of anyone else. He also asked Asmodeus to not tell Riddle anything important, which Asmodeus sullenly agreed to. Asmodeus did enjoy watching Harry research the people he had to find. Even snakes found Horcruxes abominable.

On the left side of the bulletin board, Harry had placed Herpo the Foul, located in Mycenae, Greece during the year 1050 BCE. Harry had only started skimming the book, but he managed to find a very old drawing of Herpo that he pinned under the name. He had a very flat nose that reminded Harry of Voldemort when he left the cauldron. The book also mentioned something called “The Curse on the House of Atreus,” so Harry added that to both the board and his list of things to research.

Next came Cato Servius from Rome in 65 CE. He couldn’t find anything to add to Cato quite yet, but it did make sense to Harry that the knowledge of Horcruxes would spread first from Ancient Greece, then to Rome. After Servius was Bronagh Ó Dufaigh, who appeared to be a bog witch somewhere in Ireland during 434 CE. She was the first woman to make a Horcrux.

Snorri Oddrson apparently ravaged land from the upper part of Norway to England all the way to Poland during the beginning of the eleventh century, so Harry made a note of that, along with the year of 1015 CE and the location of Jomsburg.

Harry shuddered when he found out that Maricara Cel Tradat, from Târgoviște in what is now known as Romania, belonged to Vlad the Impaler’s Court in 1462. He remembered from History of Magic that Vlad managed to turn himself into a vampire from the sheer amount of blood he drank.

The last person between Maricara and Tom had a very familiar name. With the name Gerbold Ollivander, location of London, and year 1874, Harry guessed that this man was Garrick Ollivander’s grandfather, or at least of some other relation to him. Harry wondered if Ollivander would be of any help to him, or if he even knew that his ancestor had made a Horcrux.

Harry suddenly felt very anxious and trapped. He decided to nab some food from the kitchens before starting to study for when school resumed. He was, after all, quite behind. Or he might look over the files that Ragnuk had sent. Anything to ignore the pain in the healing scar over his heart that was in the shape of the Deathly Hallows. That scar was only just another manacle, binding Harry to his destined fate.

***

He needed seven. Seven people total for a ritual to bind their magics together. Seven was a strong magical number. Seven people, seven soul pieces. Each person would symbolize a Horcrux, with him as the seventh holding the main part and holding the power. Tom had seven people. In his Knights of Walpurgis, he had Malfoy, Nott, Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, and Black. He had seven, but it still didn’t feel right. Someone amongst them didn’t belong, but he didn’t know who, nor did he know who would replace them. If he had to guess, though, Peverell would be his final seventh piece. Peverell would be his Locket, he decided. Slytherin’s Locket would be his most prized Horcrux, and he had a feeling that Peverell would be his most prized servant. He just needed to get his hands on the Locket. And on Peverell, too.

Tom had so many more questions after escorting Peverell to Diagon Alley, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to ask. As soon as they returned to Hogwarts, Peverell was sent to talk to Dippet, and Tom had to get ready for the odious Slug Club Yule Celebration. It was as boring as ever, but Tom’s fake smile never wavered as he socialized with the people Slughorn collected. He was glad when it was over, though.

Peverell didn’t join the Slytherin dorm that night, and on Sunday morning, Tom and his cohort took the Hogwarts Express back to London. He sat in a compartment with only his most trusted but ignored their rowdiness while trying to compile the information he had already gathered about Peverell. He would love to get his hands on the little furry bag Peverell carried with him. It must have Expansion and Featherlight Charms on it. The stack of books he collected from the vault was what he was especially keen on finding. He hoped that he’d be able to take a look into the bag when everyone was back from break. It was going to be a hard task, though, because it seemed as though Peverell never took it off from around his neck.

Peverell was a lord, yes, and a very wealthy one, but he lacked the mannerisms and social fluency his friends that had been raised as purebloods used. He was also rather terrible at disguising his emotions. Peverell was powerful, and Tom was excited to see what classes he would be taking, hoping that Peverell was smart, too.

Tom hoped that Orion would have information on the Peverell family. He’d have ample time to ask, as the Blacks were hosting him over break. The library at the Black Ancestral Home was massive, so Tom resolved to look there as well.

Tom cleared his throat, and everyone in the compartment stopped to look at him. “We will have a meeting after the Blacks’ Yuletide Ball.” They nodded affirmatively, so Tom retreated back to his thoughts. He’d uncover every single secret Peverell had.

Early Monday morning, Tom didn’t waste any time getting started. He was settled in at a large desk in the library at seven and had sent an elf to fetch Orion. He sighed when Orion stumbled in blearily, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He gave a quick bow before addressing Tom.

“Good morning, my Lord. How can I assist you today?”

“Good morning, Orion.” Tom leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “What can you tell me about the family name ‘Peverell’?”

“Peverell? Well, they are a very old family that is thought to have died out. The last Lord Peverell disappeared sometime during the fifteenth century and there has not been one since. They did marry into quite a few families, but no one has been able to claim the lordship. What I have heard is that there are multiple unknown requirements to assume lordship, but if you don’t meet them, you lose your magic. Most people would not risk it.”

“What families did they marry into?” Tom wondered what the requirements were. Peverell obviously passed them because his magic had grown even stronger after leaving the goblin’s office.

“I know they married into the Potters, as well the Gaunts, the Blacks, and the Longbottoms.” Orion shrugged. “At some point, nearly all of the pureblood families are related to each other.”

“And what do you know of the last Lord Peverell?”

“I believe his name was Henry, and he just disappeared. No on knew where he went, and he didn’t show up as deceased on the Peverell family tree. He most likely has by now, but the family tapestry is in the Peverell vaults, and only the Lord can unlock them. It’s quite a conundrum.” Orion looked up at Tom. “Why do you ask, my Lord?” Tom just glared at him, and Orion swallowed.

“Is there anything else?”

“Well, some people believe that the three brothers from the tale about the Deathly Hallows, but everyone knows that that’s just an old witch’s tale. Only fools believe in them. Oh! I think Lord Henry Peverell has a Chocolate Frogs card, though I can’t seem to remember what for.”

“Thank you, Orion. You can go back to sleep if you wish. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Please tell me if I can assist later.” Orion gave another tired bow and left. Tom didn’t understand the appeal of sleeping in. It quite frankly seemed like a waste of time. He had learned a lot from Orion. It was no surprise to him that most pureblood families were interrelated, but he had been curious when Orion mentioned the Gaunts. Tom was aware of his unfortunate heritage, but he was fascinated to learn that he was related to another powerful family besides Slytherin. Maybe Peverell was descended from Slytherin as well. He did have an affinity to snakes. He hoped he’d be able to befriend Peverell’s little snake and learn more about him. Tom had been almost disappointed when Peverell said he wasn’t a Parselmouth. It really was a surprise, because Tom did not like to share, especially his talents. He prided himself on being Slytherin’s Heir, and another Parselmouth could ruin that. But part of Tom still had wanted to share the ability to speak to snakes with Peverell.

He still was not quite sure why Dumbledore wanted Peverell, too. Unless Dumbledore was one of the fools who believed in the Hallows? Tom knew about them. He’d read the story as a first year, trying to get acclimated to a culture he knew nothing about. He doubted that was it but would keep an eye out for any mentions of the Hallows.

Tom spent the rest of the week greedily compiling information about the Peverell family, as well as looking for more information on both Horcruxes and on the Hallows. Before long, it was time for the Yuletide Ball, so Tom wore his finest dress robes and prepared himself for a night of meaningless socialization with the hopes of making at least one worthwhile connection. He didn’t have much hope, though. It bothered him that he’d often get ignored, either due to his age or his blood status. He was important, and everyone who had slighted him before would regret it. He’d make everyone bow before him.

He wore his bland smile for all of the ball, dancing with a few of the pureblood girls he knew from Hogwarts, and avoiding the punch that he was sure got spiked by Rosier at some point during the night. He did get a chance to talk to Lord Malfoy about the class choices at Hogwarts, because it really was a shame at how few choices they had, especially compared to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Tom hated the patronizing look he was given, like he was some sort of pet that managed to exceed expectations. He was better than them all, and they’d know it soon enough.

The meeting with his Knights could not come soon enough. As soon as he stepped through the door and saw all of them still standing, waiting for him, he felt calmer. It was good to be worshiped like he deserved. They all bowed, only sitting down after Tom took the seat at the head of the table.

“Welcome. I have important news that comes with a task. When we return to Hogwarts, there will be a new student. A sixth year Slytherin male, like us. It is my goal to recruit him. You all must work to befriend him as well as prevent him from making connections outside of Slytherin House. Learn everything you can about him. Above all, keep him away from Dumbledore. He is very powerful, and I cannot let him fall into Dumbledore’s hands.” Tom looked around the table at his loyal servants, and noticed each of their expressions. Some were curious or excited, but some, most notably being Black, were filled with jealousy. He’d need to keep an eye on that. “My bed will be next to his in the dorms, even if that means beds must be moved.”

“What is his name, my Lord?”

“Harry Peverell.”

Tom woke up the next morning quite satisfied. His Knights had worked out a plan to seduce Peverell to their side. It was Christmas Day, and he had a large pile of presents, a far cry from his childhood when he’d never get a single gift. Many of them were from his Knights or other Slytherins, as well as various students who were trying to curry favor with him. After he had sorted through them, there was one left. It was an unassuming, small package wrapped in plain brown paper. He read the note attached first. It said: _To T. M. Riddle with thanks. H. I. Peverell_. He tore the package open and was both oddly touched and terrified. Peverell had given him a small black journal emblazoned with T. M. Riddle, just like the diary he had made into a Horcrux. There was no way Peverell could know, right? After all, they had just met, and even his Knights did not know that he had created a Horcrux. He couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid even more exposition dumping in mass quantities, at the beginning of each chapter I'm going to go over a real short biography of each of my little Horcrux makers. Herpo the Foul and Gerbold Ollivander are canon characters, everyone else is mine. I tried to do my naming as well as JK Rowling did, but who knows. See you next chapter! Thanks for reading and I love you all.


	4. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! It's a bit of a shorter chapter so I'm sorry about that, but we have more Harry and Tom interactions! There's a wee bit of Greek mythology thrown in at the beginning because I am a nerd and I have no shame. I hope you all enjoy!

**_Herpo the Foul:_ **

_Born in 1075 BCE, Herpo the Foul was another tragic member of the House of Atreus, a family cursed by the Greek Gods ever since Herpo’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather Tantalus fed the Gods the flesh of his own son. Following in the footsteps of his family’s tragedy through folly, Herpo was the discoverer of many spells and other magical creations that went against the morals of the Gods themselves, who were, in general, immoral. He was one of the first Parselmouths, and as such, claimed he was related to Medusa, though that is dubious at best. He was famous for his yellow eyes, and ragged, unkempt white hair, that was white from the day he was born. He was a well known cannibal, eating the flesh of whatever child he could get his hands on. Unlike his ancestors, Herpo would eat human flesh without being tricked. Some of his more infamous creations include the very first Horcrux. He was also the first person to breed a basilisk by placing a toad on top of a chicken’s egg. Amusingly, in 1015 BCE, Herpo was petrified by his very own basilisk, and his petrified body was buried deep in a hidden cave that was then sealed off, never to see the light again._

***

Tom could tell that Peverell had moved in, though the boy himself was no where to be seen. His bed was next to Black’s, so Orion moved all of his things to switch beds with Tom, grumbling under his breath when he thought Tom wasn’t paying attention. Tom was, but he let the insubordination slide, for now at least.

There was a large stack of books on Peverell’s bedside table, and Tom looked through them eagerly. Unfortunately, they were all just sixth year textbooks, but Tom was gratified to see that Peverell was taking quite a few classes. Tom was in all of the classes Peverell was taking, with the exception of History of Magic. That class was a waste of time unless you were absolutely fascinated by the Goblin Wars, which Tom was decidedly not. The fact that he was taking so many classes at a high level boded well for Peverell’s intelligence. Merlin knew how badly Tom needed someone else smart as a member of his Knights. Rosier, Lestrange, Malfoy, and Nott were all fairly intelligent, but Avery and Black were not academically gifted. Black especially was not exactly gifted with common sense as well, but he had his uses. He had money, power, a good name, a massive library, and was quite skilled with his wand when it came to the Dark Arts.

“Nott, Rosier. You are both taking History of Magic, correct?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Peverell will be in that class as well. Make sure he sits between the two of you. Also, do not address me as your Lord in front of Peverell, at least for the present. I do not wish to frighten him off.”

Tom was incredibly excited to see Peverell again. He waited in the Common Room impatiently until it was nearly time for dinner before eventually making his way to the Great Hall, hoping Peverell was already there. When he arrived, Peverell was no where to be found, so Tom took his place at the head of the table, lording over his court. He noticed that Malfoy had left room between him and Tom, leaving space for Peverell to sit when he eventually found his way to the Slythrein table. Tom was pleased with Malfoy. He was proving daily that he deserved his position as Tom’s second.

The first supper back from Christmas break was always treated as a smaller Welcoming Feast. They’d sing the school song again and Dippet would make announcements, and then they’d all eat copious amounts of food until it was time for bed. This evening was no different, and Tom should have realized that Dippet was going to introduce Peverell to the whole school.

“Students!” Dippet announced. “Welcome back to Hogwarts for spring term! I know you all must be excited for dinner and for classes to start again tomorrow, so I will make this brief. We have a new transfer student joining us this term. He is in the sixth year and has already been Sorted into Slytherin. Please welcome him and make him feel at home. Here he is! His name is Harry Peverell.”

Peverell stepped out onto the dais next to Dippet, looking fairly uncomfortable at all the attention he was receiving. Hogwarts almost never received new students after first year, so Peverell was definitely a novelty, and the whole school was already gossiping about him. He gave a small smile and inclined his head in an awkward qausi-bow, before stepping off the platform and heading toward the Slytherin table. Tom was rather pleased to see that Peverell was wearing one of the dark green shirts Tom had picked out for him. He looked unsure about where to sit, so Tom beckoned him.

“Peverell! There’s a seat next to me here if you’d like to join us.” Tom could have sworn he saw Peverell wince slightly, but nevertheless, he came and sat down between Tom and Malfoy.

“It is nice to see you again, Riddle.”

“Likewise, Peverell. Please meet one of my closest friends, Abraxas Malfoy.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Peverell said, offering his hand to Malfoy.

“You as well. Say, where did you transfer from? Headmaster Dippet only mentioned that you were new.”

“I was homeschooled.”

“Why did you choose to come to Hogwarts now, then?”

“The person who was teaching me is dead,” Peverell said with bitter bluntness, then took a deep breath. “I apologize. I fear the loss is still quite fresh.”

“And your parents?”

“Dead, too.”

Tom wondered how much of what Peverell was saying was true. It was plausible that he was homeschooled, but that would be strange if he was an orphan. It also didn’t explain _how_ he got here. Malfoy was looking at Tom panicked, so Tom swept in to save the conversation. “My condolences for your loss, Peverell. Now that you are here at Hogwarts, are there any classes you’re looking forward to the most?”

“Thank you, Riddle. I have always enjoyed Defense. I am also looking forward to Herbology. I used to keep a garden for potions ingredients back home, so I am excited to see some plants I’ve only learned about but never had a chance to grow.”

“Where is home?”

Peverell looked at Tom sadly. “I don’t think I have one anymore.” Tom thought that Peverell’s forlornness was rather pathetic, but if he was feeling alone and displaced, it would be easier for Tom to swoop in and indoctrinate him. Tom himself did not need a home, but Peverell could find a home with him and the Knights.

“Slytherin will be your home. Come, eat some dinner and then we can show you around the Slytherin Common Room and introduce you to the rest of our year mates.” Peverell seemed to suddenly realize that he hadn’t taken any food while most people were starting to finish eating. He put only a small serving of stew on his plate and ate it slowly. He would never be at a healthy weight if he did that, so Tom added a second scoop of stew to his plate as well as a bread roll. Peverell looked at him in surprise, and Tom only stared back, daring Peverell to question him. Peverell wisely did not and ate most of what was on his plate.

“By the way, Peverell, thank you for the journal. I must admit that I was surprised that you knew my middle name.”

Peverell laughed. “I don’t. I asked Professor Slughorn what I should get you for a gift since you were so helpful, and he said you used to carry around a journal like that but had not for a while. I assumed you must have filled up your old one. I am glad you liked it.” Tom was very relieved. He had been worrying over the journal since he had received it.

After everyone had finished eating, the sixth year Slytherin boys left en masse for the dungeons. As they went, Tom pointed out interesting parts of the castle. When they finally got to the Slytherin Common Room, Tom whispered to Peverell, “You should introduce yourself.” The Common Room was quite full with students, most of them looking at Peverell curiously. Peverell himself gave Tom a panicked look before stepping forward and addressing the room.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Harry Peverell,” Peverell said, awkwardly. “Like what Headmaster Dippet said, I am a new student in the sixth year. I transferred from homeschooling. It is nice to meet you all, and I look forward to getting to know you.” As soon as he finished speaking, everyone started chattering to each other. Peverell had not given them much information, and Tom was disappointed as well. He guided Peverell over to the seats left empty by the fire. The rest of his Knights were there, waiting.

“Peverell, these are the other people in our dorm. You’ve met Abraxas Malfoy, but here’s Orion Black, Corvus Lestrange, Evan Rosier, Giffard Avery, and Nathaniel Nott.” Tom noticed Peverell’s eyes widening in something akin to shock or recognition when he said Black’s name. For the first time, Tom tried to peek into Peverell’s mind. He gently prodded into his mind, then seemingly fell through to the other side, like Peverell had no mind at all. It wasn’t even like his mind was behind shields and he was a master at Occlumency, but almost like there was just nothing there. Peverell smirked at him.

“It is nice to meet you,” Peverell said, shyly. “I hope we will all be friends. It has been a long day, so I think I am going to go to sleep soon.” As he passed Tom, he whispered, “Do not try that again.” Tom glared at his back as he walked up the stairs.

***

As much as Death was being problematic, there were some benefits to being Death’s Champion. One of them was having an impenetrable mind. Harry was extremely grateful, as he had never quite been able to get the hang of Occlumency. Even though Tom Riddle was not quite yet a Master Legilimens, he still would have easily torn down Harry’s previous defenses.

Harry had enjoyed the days between Christmas and the rest of the students returning. He had looked over the information Ragnuk had sent him about the Peverell holdings and had asked him to hire some house elves to make the London townhouse fit to be lived in again. His ring was a Portkey so he had been able to visit many of his properties and decided that the townhouse would suit him best. It also had the most complete library. Harry had never known that there were books written in Parselscript. He was actually excited to read them when he got a chance. He also took advantage of not having Tom in the castle to add the Chamber of Secrets to the Marauder’s Map that he had kept in his mokeskin bag when he was sent back into the past. It would be very useful.

He had also down more research on his targets, starting with Herpo the Foul and whatever the Curse on the House of Atreus was. He found the answer in a book on Greek Mythology. The Greek Gods must have been real. He wondered if they still were. _They are still there, but they do not have any power now. Without worshippers, they have nothing._ Harry jumped. _Sorry to frighten you, little Champion._ Harry wasn’t frightened, as much as he was startled. He could feel Death chuckle at Harry. It was very unnerving to have a conversation with someone, or something, who responded to your thoughts before you even said anything.

His time alone in the castle had to come to an end, and Harry was dreading the return of all the students, even more when he found out that Dippet wanted to introduce him to the entire school during dinner. He supposed that it was one way to get it over with, but he knew he’d end up being bombarded with questions that he had not yet thought of answers to. _Do not worry. Say what feels right, and I will be able to make your backstory legitimate._ Harry did not find that exactly reassuring. It was what it was, though, so Harry did his best to act confident when Dippet introduced him to a thousand curious students.

It was just his luck that Riddle called him over almost immediately. There was an empty seat between Riddle and someone who was far too blond to be anything but a Malfoy that Harry had not choice but to take. Harry thought he did a decently good job of fielding the questions from Riddle and Abraxas, and he was especially proud of how he explained knowing Tom’s middle name. What he was not proud of was how much his heart had started to hurt when he looked at Orion Black and only saw Sirius. Riddle had noticed Harry’s reaction and had tried to peek into his mind. It honestly surprised Harry that Riddle had waited that long, and he sent Death a quick thank you when he realized that Riddle couldn’t break through into his mind. He felt some childish glee when he whispered to Tom to not try and break into his mind again. It felt nice to have a slight upper hand.

When he was in his bed that night, after surrounding himself with privacy charms and protective wards, he realized the humor of thanking Death instead of Merlin.

Harry had History of Magic first on Monday morning. He was glad that it was in the same room from his own time, and ended up arriving quite early, before most of the other students. Harry looked around the room, uncertain of where to sit, then he spotted someone with the trademark Potter hair. He must have been a relative of Harry’s, so he decided to sit with him.

“Hullo. Is this seat taken?”

“No, but why would you want to sit here?”

Harry was a bit taken aback by the hostility. “I’m sorry. Have I done something to offend you?”

“No, but you’re a Slytherin!” the boy gestured towards Harry. “And I’m a Gryffindor.”

“And?” Harry played dumb.

“We aren’t supposed to get along. Hasn’t anyone told you that yet?” Harry just looked at him, blankly. “Fine. You can sit here.”

“Fantastic! My name’s Harry Peverell but please just call me Harry.”

“I’m Charlus Potter. You can call me Charlus.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Charlus! Would you please explain to me why Gryffindors and Slytherins aren’t supposed to get along?”

“We’re supposed to be mortal enemies or something like that, based on the traits of our Houses.”

“That seems rather silly,” Harry frowned. “Don’t all of the Houses have positive traits that most people share? When I was being Sorted, the Hat wa-”

“Peverell. Perhaps you should not sit next to him.” Harry looked up to see Rosier and Nott, sneering at Charlus. “It’s best to stay with your own House and not fraternize with the lesser populace.”

“Oh, yes! Charlus was just explaining to me about this rivalry the Houses have!” Harry said, brightly. “Feel free to sit next to me, but I like to make my own opinions of people.” Harry turned back to Charlus, ignoring their scoffs, and internally smiling when Rosier sat next to him and Nott to the seat directly behind him. “As I was saying, the Hat was debating whether or not to put me in Slytherin or Gryffindor.”

“ _Gryffindor_?” Rosier sneered.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Harry turned to glare at Rosier. “Let me guess. The Hat sorted you immediately into Slytherin,” Harry paused when Rosier seemed to puff up proudly, before continuing, “because you only have self-preservation without the intelligence, bravery, and dedication to actually achieve anything of your own? Are you proud of being a walking, one dimensional caricature? The Hat said I fit best in Slytherin because I have courage that I use to reach my ambitions. A Gryffindor trait used for a Slytherin goal.” Rosier had turned a dark, angry red.

“The Hat considered putting me in Ravenclaw,” Charlus said. “Said I was intelligent but that knowledge was not my driving motivator so I would do better in Gryffindor.”

“I was also almost put in Ravenclaw,” Nott added, smirking at Rosier. “Peverell is right. All of the Houses do have some worthwhile characteristics.”

“Thank you, Nott!” Harry had noticed that the classroom had started to fill up. “I am quite excited for this class. The previous person to teach me only focus on the Goblin Wars, so I am eager to learn more about other parts of history.” All three of the boys around him gave Harry pitying looks, that made sense when Binns walked it.

Professor Binns somehow managed to be even more boring while he was alive. As a ghost, Harry could at least sketch what the classroom looked like distorted through the professor’s ghostly body in the margins of his notes, but now he had nothing. Merlin have mercy on him. It was going to be a long year and a half of magical history lessons. He wondered if it was too late to drop the class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be able to update for maybe two weeks. I have exams to study for so that'll have to take priority over me writing :/. Alas, I have to pass organic chemistry.   
> If anyone is a fan of feminism, Greek mythology, or podcasts, I strongly recommend listening to the podcast "Let's Talk About Myths, Baby" I listen to it on Spotify but it's available a lot of places. I so wish they wrote Percy Jackson type novels for an older audience...  
> I digress. I have lots of plans, and next up, we're going to learn about the second person to make a Horcrux! It'll be fun.


	5. Warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! Welcome to Chapter 5! We've come so far! This chapter features a jealous Tom, a confused Harry, and a bit on Roman history. It'll be fun!
> 
> "Cato" means intelligent/shrewd while "Servius" comes from the root "servo" which means to preserve. I'm no JK Rowling when it comes to naming, but I'm trying.
> 
> Quick warning, there is a mention of pedophilia, but nothing particularly graphic. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Out of curiosity, do you guys recommend that I read The Cursed Child? I haven't yet and I'm a little leery about it tbh. I've heard quite a few bad things and very little good.

**_Cato Servius_ **

**** _Born to an elite Roman wizarding family in 34 CE, Cato Servius was the one who revised Herpo the Foul’s original ritual for making a Horcrux and elevated it to a new level of both power and evil. To prevent the soul from healing through remorse, Servius decided to add a further evil besides just murder to the ritual: consume the victim’s heart. This served a three-fold purpose. The soul was less likely to heal because the act of cannibalism seemed to cauterize the ragged edges of the torn soul. Consuming the lifeblood of the still warm heart added even more power to the protections around the Horcrux, as blood sacrifices tend to strengthen everything. Thirdly, the act had the surprising effect of making the soul chunk in the Horcrux smaller in comparison to the rest of the soul. Herpo’s horcrux contained exactly half of his soul, while the one Servius made contained merely an eighth._

_Cato Servius grew up alongside the boy who would eventually become the Emperor Nero. In fact, Servius was the one to guide him into power, using magic to facilitate his adoption by Emperor Claudius only to trick Nero’s mother into poisoning Claudius. It didn’t take much convincing to get the already paranoid Nero to have his step-brother and mother both poisoned. With all of the charms he had casted on Nero and removing the other people who could influence him, Servius was effectively the Emperor of Rome, controlling Nero like a puppet._

_Fearful of losing power when Nero eventually died, Servius attempted to make a Horcrux by proxy for Nero, but failed, accidentally releasing a raging Fiendfyre across metropolitan Rome in 64 CE. The utter destruction of Rome only spelled the beginning of the end for Nero, and, four years later, Nero was dead and Servius was without his puppet. Attempting to gain control of the next leader failed and Servius was executed. Thanks to the Horcrux he had made, Cato Servius spent the rest of forever as a wraith, wandering the world, unable to get a new body._

***

Tom was furious. He had walked into Transfiguration to see Peverell and Charlus Potter sitting next to each other at one of the two person tables that filled the room. They were talking and laughing, and Tom was just seething. He sat at the table behind them, and Peverell smiled at him then returned to his conversation. Tom realized with even more annoyance that they were already using each other’s first names. How did that happen so quickly? He glared at the back of Potter’s head, wishing that he could just curse him into oblivion for daring to talk to what belonged to Tom. Peverell was _his_ and nobody else’s. Nott and Rosier were in trouble for allowing this to happen. They had one simple task, which was to keep Peverell from making friends with people outside of Slytherin. It should not have been that hard! He was going to make them suffer, but not as much as he was going to make Potter suffer for having the audacity to talk to Peverell. He wished he could watch Potter scream under the Cruciatus. He deserved it.

Malfoy sat down next to Tom, and wisely chose not to comment on his anger. At least one of his followers wasn’t an idiot. He was hoping Peverell wasn’t one, either. He would need to talk to Peverell after class, to make sure that he knew he wasn’t supposed to fraternize with other Houses, especially not Gryffindor. Peverell didn’t know better yet, but he would soon.

Dumbledore walked in and gave Tom his usual glare and Tom glared right back, not bothering to hide his hatred. He was too mad right now. Dumbledore smiled when he saw Potter and Peverell sitting together and Tom could not wait to see Dumbledore’s face when he recruited Peverell. It would be delightful.

“Do you see how Dumbledore is looking at Peverell?” Malfoy whispered. “What does he want from him?”

“I don’t know,” said Tom darkly. “But I’m not going to let him get it.” He snapped the nib of his quill from pressing it too hard against his parchment and fought the urge to just incinerate it. He wanted to destroy something and was having a hard time keeping his mask from slipping. He was grateful there was only one class left in the day, and it was not with the Gryffindors. Slytherins had Potions with the Ravenclaws before dinner, and Tom going to make sure Peverell was his partner.

Tom spent the class split between glaring at Potter and watching Peverell. Peverell seemed to pick up the lesson material rather quickly, which pleased Tom. It was one thing to be powerful but another to be able to wield magic skillfully. Fortunately, Peverell appeared to be both.

The lesson was finally ending when Dumbledore walked past and asked Peverell to stay after class. Tom’s mood soured even more. He would bet a Galleon that Dumbledore was going to try and convince Peverell to stay away from him.

Peverell stayed seated as everyone else packed up when the lesson was over. Potter bid him goodbye and left, shooting Tom a fearful look. Potter must have at least some common sense. Tom followed everyone else out of the room, but stayed in the hallway, casting a quick Listening charm so he could hear their conversation.

“Harry, my boy, how have you found your classes so far? Are you settling in well?” How dare Dumbledore be so familiar with Peverell?

Peverell must have agreed, because he said “I would prefer if you would not call me that. But I have been settling in quite well, and the classes have been interesting. I am looking forward to Potions later.”

“Good, good. I see you made friends with one of my Lions!”

“Yes, Charlus has been very kind and welcoming. He promised to help me catch up with History of Magic this evening.” Tom was not going to let that happen. He would make Nott help Peverell. He did not want Peverell spending any more time with Potter if he could help it.

“How are your Housemates?”

“They have been wonderful. Quite welcoming as well.”

“Are you happy there? I was thinking you might wish to ask for a re-Sort. The Slytherin House is not known for their kindness. I think you would make a good Gryffindor.” That _bastard_! Tom hadn’t expected Dumbledore to try and snatch Peverell like that. But Tom was not going to let Peverell change Houses.

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“Many of the Slytherins are of a bad sort. You should be careful around them, especially one of the people in your year.”

“I mean, Rosier is definitely a bigot but he is probably a good fellow besides that.” Tom scoffed at that. No one in their right mind would call Rosier a “good fellow,” especially not with the way he looked at the first year girls. Tom did not have the same _tastes_ as Rosier, but he had no qualms about helping Rosier cover his tracks a few times. As long as he didn’t touch anyone from Slytherin, it wasn’t Tom’s problem, so he looked the other direction. It was a good way to get and keep a loyal follower.

“I wasn’t talking about Rosier. You need to be wary around Tom Riddle. He is incredibly dangerous.” There it was. He knew Dumbledore was going to say that.

“Riddle? He has been very kind.”

“He is incredibly manipulative, Harry, and you should stay away from him. I would be much more comfortable if you asked to be Sorted out of Slytherin.”

“Do you ask all of the Slytherins to change Houses, Professor? I don’t see why my House is your problem. I don’t think the Sorting Hat made a mistake. I’m going to stay in Slytherin, sir.” Tom heard some shuffling and guessed that Peverell was standing up to leave. “And, anyways, I think I should make my own decisions about who is a bad sort.”

He heard Dumbledore sigh. “Just remember that I tried to warn you, Harry.”

Peverell seemed upset when he left the classroom and was surprised to see Tom there. “Hullo, Riddle! Were you waiting for me?”

“I wanted to make sure you knew how to get to the Potions classroom.”

“Thank you! That’s very kind.” Peverell looked at Tom curiously. “Is it normal for professors to tell you that you should ask for a re-Sort?”

“That is not normal. Why, did Professor Dumbledore tell you that?”

“He did. It was very strange.” Peverell shrugged and they started walking to Potions. “It’s no matter. I am happy being in Slytherin. I especially would not want to be a Gryffindor. I cannot stand the way Dumbledore looks at me. He looks at me the way a child looks at a toy they really want. Like an object.”

“I noticed that. It is very strange. Do you know why?”

“I have no idea. He seems to strongly dislike you, though. I don’t see why. You seem perfectly fine. He told me I should stay away from you, but honestly I don’t trust anything he said.”

Tom smiled at that. Dumbledore was driving Peverell away, straight into Tom’s reach. Dumbledore was a brazen fool, outright asking Peverell for a re-Sort like that. It was ridiculous, but it would make it even easier for Tom to make Peverell his. He could not wait to see Peverell bow before him. It would be delightful.

***

“Professor Dumbledore seemed to hate me the moment he met me. I was never sure why.” Tom looked over at Harry as they were walking towards the Potions classroom. “By the way, Peverell, if you find yourself behind in any of your classes, I can help tutor you if you need it. It must be hard starting in the middle of the school year.”

“Thank you, Riddle. I appreciate it. I think I am fine for now, though. I am a bit worried about Potions. I have never had the best luck in that class.”

“How about you be my partner and I can help you if you need it?”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.” Harry smiled at Riddle.

At Tom’s offer, Peverell gave him a brilliant smile. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

They arrived at the classroom, and Riddle led Harry to one of the tables near the front. Slughorn gave them a cheerful wave as they started to set up for the lesson. They were brewing Skele-gro that day. If their potions were good enough, they’d go into the hospital wing’s potions stock. Harry had never made it before, but Riddle looked confident. With a glance at the board, he started setting up their station, humming slightly to himself. Harry stared at him for a moment. Voldemort, humming? It seemed to normal and human, though Tom Riddle wasn’t Voldemort yet and still had half of his soul.

Harry and Tom worked surprisingly well together, both going through the motions easily. Harry zoned out slightly, ruminating over what Dumbledore had said. He had expected Dumbledore to try and get close to Harry, but he did not expect him to actually tell Harry to get Sorted again. He scooped up his thinly chopped Chinese Chomping Cabbage with his left hand and was about to toss it into the cauldron when his hand stopped. He couldn’t move it. He looked at his hand in horror, then realized that if he had put the Cabbage in at that early, the cauldron would have likely exploded. He withdrew his hand slowly, just staring at it. Tom looked at him curiously, and Harry just shook his head. What had stopped him?

 _Little One, I would not let you die that easily. You still have a task to do._ Harry shivered, realizing that Death had taken control of his body. He had noticed Death guiding him previously, but Death had never completely taken control like he was merely a marionette. It disturbed him.

“Are you alright, Peverell?” Riddle asked. “You look like just had quite a fright.”

“I think I am fine,” Harry said slowly, his hand feeling weirdly cold. “Just got lost in a thought for a moment.”

“If you’re sure,” Tom said doubtfully. “You should probably put the Cabbage in now.”

“Yes, right. The Cabbage. Thank you.” Harry quickly dumped the Cabbage into the cauldron and stirred it. _I won’t do it often. Just when needed._ That, at least, was a relief, but Harry could not stand the idea of not having control over his own motions. He had spent so much of his life without any autonomy and since he was able to shake off the Imperius, he at least had his bodily control as something just his own. He felt so violated. He would almost rather die than not have control like that again.

“Peverell!” Tom’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, and Harry heard an edge of annoyance. “Are you sure you’re alright. You’ve been just sitting there looking at your hand for nearly ten minutes. Class is almost over. Here. Let me look at it.”

Tom snatched Harry’s hand before he could even protest. He ran a light finger over the scar etched into his skin, and Harry shivered. “I must not tell lies,” Tom read aloud. “Did you do that yourself, Peverell? It looks like your handwriting.”

“Of course not!” Harry felt oddly embarrassed and defensive, and pulled his hand back, his skin still feeling a tingling warmth from where Riddle had touched it.

“Then how did you get it?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, Riddle,” Harry snapped. “But if you must know, an old instructor of mine favored writing lines as a way to get a message across, and she especially favored her Blood Quills.”

Riddle smirked at him. “Are you a liar, Peverell?”

“No, I am not!” Harry said, hotly.

“Are you sure about that?” Riddle leaned in close, still smirking. “Don’t be embarrassed. We all lie sometimes.” He pulled away, laughing slightly. “Come on. Class is over. We should go get supper.”

“Supper. Right.” Harry frowned, subconsciously rubbing the scar on his forehead, unaware of Riddle tracking his movement. He could have sworn he felt the faintest prickle earlier when Riddle touched him, then shook his head to try and clear out his thoughts. “Supper sounds nice.”

They cleaned up quickly, since Riddle had already turned their potion in. Harry was amazed at how out of it he had been. Maybe time passed differently when Death was controlling his body. Harry did not have the stomach to eat, so he excused himself and went straight to the library. He wanted to look at some textbooks on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy since he had those classes tomorrow for the first time. He hoped that Death would aid him, otherwise he was going to fail the class.

He got himself situated at a table in the back of the library and pulled out his Arithmancy textbook. It actually didn’t seem that bad, but he was thankful that Hermione had badgered him into keeping up with his maths skills. He missed Hermione so much but there wasn’t much he could do.

“Peverell.” Harry looked up to three young women with Slytherin emblems standing at his table. “We need to talk.”

“Alright, then. Sit down. Can I just ask your names first?”

The one who first spoke flushed slightly but sat down. “Forgive my manners. I am Dorea Black. This is Druella Rosier and Lucretia Black, my cousin.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all. I am Harry Peverell, though it appears that you already knew that. What is it that we need to speak about?”

Dorea looked at him nervously. “My betrothed told me to warn you about Riddle.”

“Your betrothed?”

“Potter. Charlus Potter. He said that Riddle looked like he was ready to murder him for sitting next to you during Transfiguration. He said that you should just try to keep careful around him. He stares at you so possessively.”

“Riddle has many in Slytherin charmed, but not all of us,” Lucretia said. “He has this group that he says is going to make changes for the good of all wizards, but something seems off.”

“And what is good for all wizards is not always good for all witches, is it?” Harry said, and the three of them smiled at him. “Thank you for the warning. I have noticed that some of his friends appear to be following me. They are not as subtle as they think they are.” Currently, Lestrange was standing in the stacks a little way away from them, trying but failing to look inconspicuous. Harry smirked at him. “It’s no matter. I’m not worried.”

“You really should be.” Charlus Potter had walked up to them, History book in hand, since he had promised to help Harry study that evening. “Mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead.”

“Bad things tend to happen to people around Riddle, especially people who displease him. Please just be careful, Harry. You seem like a nice fellow.”

“I really do appreciate the warning, but like I said. I am not particularly concerned about Riddle. What I _am_ concerned about is my lack of knowledge on seventeenth century goblin-wizard relations, so if you’d like to help me with something, it would be learning that.”

Charlus laughed, while Dorea wrinkled her nose. “I think I’ll pass.” She, Lucretia and Druella left, leaving Charlus and Harry sitting alone at the table. They went over the History textbooks for a good hour before Charlus pushed them away with a sigh.

“So, tell me Harry. Rumor has it that you were homeschooled until Grindelwald chose to personally eradicate your family leaving you to show up flying in on a hippogriff to the Forbidden Forest during the middle of the night, only to be found by Slughorn gathering from his illicit alihotsy plot. How much of that is accurate?”

Harry laughed. “Nearly none of it! The only part that is correct is that I was homeschooled. Are people really that interested in me?”

“Of course they are,” a smooth voice interjected. Tom Riddle had joined them, leaning elegantly against the table. “A handsome student with a good family name arriving under mysterious circumstances is perfect fodder for the Hogwarts rumor mill” Handsome?

“Riddle,” Charlus said with gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

Riddle smiled at him. “I just want to get to know my new dormmate. Peverell, is it alright if I sit down?” Harry nodded. Charlus and Riddle seemed to be having a staring competition, glaring at each other until Charlus finally looked away and Riddle smirked. Charlus sighed and stood up.

“It was nice studying with you, Harry. I will see you tomorrow.”

Harry turned to Riddle. “Did you really have to drive him away?”

Tom only shrugged. “He is not wrong, you know. The entire school is fascinated with you.”

“Even you?” Harry regretted saying that almost immediately.

“Do you want me to be?” Riddle smirked. “But yet, even me. I must admit that I do find you interesting, especially considering how you arrived. I am not here out of curiosity, though. I’d like to extend an invitation to join a club of sorts I run. We do not let many in but you seem exceptionally promising.”

Harry almost choked but kept his composure. Riddle couldn’t seriously be inviting him to join the precursor to the Death Eaters, could he? But then Harry remembered his manners, and saw that Riddle was looking at him, already smug with sureness that Harry was going to join his band of followers. Harry smiled slightly when he said, “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy so you survived! I have the next five-ish chapters planned out but I'm not sure how quickly I can get them written. Thank you all for reading, as I adore each and every single one of you and appreciate all of your kudos and comments. Stay healthy, everyone!


	6. A Changing Patronus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! Sorry this took so long! This chapter has a pissed off Harry and an obsessed Tom and everyone's favorite dark creature: the boggart! Jk I hate boggarts.   
> I can't name as well as JK Rowling but Bronagh means sorrow and O Dufaigh means dark or black. Emo, amirite?

**_Bronagh Ó Dufaigh_ **

_Ó Dufaigh_ _had the unfortunate luck of being a witch practicing the Olde Ways at the same time Christianity began to make its way through Ireland. While the transformation from the original Celtic beliefs to Christianity was not as violent as in other areas, it was nonetheless unpleasant. As a child, Bronagh Ó Dufaigh and her family were boarded up into their home which was then set on fire. Her father was a druid, feared by the local Christians. Only young Bronagh survived the fire, living only due to the strength of her magic. Her parents and four siblings all perished. From that day forward, she vowed revenge._

_Though the Romans never conquered Ireland proper, they did conquer Britannica and their beliefs spread to Ireland. Through this, Ó Dufaigh was able to add Greco-Roman spell knowledge to her Celtic practices and rituals, growing her strength and biding her time until she could avenge her family. After her close brush with death, Ó Dufaigh feared nothing but dying, so she sought out a way to keep her tethered to the Earth. She heard of the Horcruxes through whispers and chose to make one. Her human sacrifice would be the ringleader of those who killed her family. She would get revenge and immortality in one fell swoop._

_She hunted them down, and in 434 CE, she slaughtered the men and ate all their hearts, and imbued her staff with part of her soul. She was later hunted down herself and captured. They stole her staff and buried her alive, face down so she would be unable to dig herself out._

Tom could not remember the last time someone had told him no. He did not appreciate it, and his eye started to twitch slightly. Peverell kept blithely talking, unaware of just how dangerous the person he was offending truly was.

“Thank you for the offer, but I would like to focus on my studies for now and I’ll think about joining an extracurricular once I am sure that I am on track in all of my classes.” It at least was not a full out rejection, and Tom could appreciate Peverell’s dedication to his studies, but the Knights of Walpurgis was not a mere _extracurricular,_ they were an important organization and deserved respect! Peverell was truly infuriating, and Tom hoped he would be worth the effort it was taking to recruit him. “Is your club just for Slytherins or does it have members from other Houses, too? I’d love to meet some more Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs. I’ve only had classes with the Slytherins and Gryffindors so far.”

“We only have Slytherins currently, but we would be willing to invite others if they fit in with our goals.” Tom did not want other Houses as Knights, but he was not foolish enough to ignore talent.

“Well, I am looking forward to joining when I am able to.” Peverell sighed and looked miserably at the pile of textbooks spread out in front of him. “If I’m ever able to. By the way, Riddle, are you taking Ancient Runes?”

“I am.”

“Brilliant! I am trying to review before class tomorrow and I can’t quite seem to understand Adalgan’s Theorem and how it relates to the Elder Futhark runes missing in from the Younger Futhark alphabet.”

Tom pulled Peverell’s textbook over and glanced at the page he was on. “It’s actually pretty simple. Adalgan’s Theorem says that there is always a particular runic language that is best for each specific project, due to different runic alphabets having more emphasis on some symbols and phrases than others. Since the Younger Futhark alphabet has fewer runes, the Elder Futhark alphabet is preferable. The reduction from 24 to 16 runes led to an uneven balance of power on the Younger Futhark runes, meaning anything written with the Elder Futhark language is more stable.”

Peverell grimaced. “I think I need to do more studying. Thank you for helping, though.”

“My pleasure. I will leave you to your studying. Feel free to ask me any other questions and there will be a spot open for you whenever you have time to join. Oh, and I brought you some dinner. I left it on your bedside table. You really should eat more.” Peverell would join whether he had the time or not. It would just take a small push. He seemed like he was a very social person, so perhaps some forced isolation would be what it took for Peverell to join. He’d make sure that Peverell had no chances to be with anyone besides his Knights.

Charlus Potter was a prefect as well, and Tom knew that he was on duty that night, so he went to search for him at the prefects’ office. Potter was early, which was typical for him, and worked quite well for Tom. He did not want anyone witnessing the conversation they were about to have.

“Potter.” The young man startled and looked up from the book he was reading at Tom, fearfully. Tom thought it was rather pathetic that this paragon of Gryffindor so easily showed fear. “We need to talk. I have noticed that you have gotten close to Harry Peverell. I think it would be in your best interest if you kept your distance from now on.”

Potter bristled. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m not threatening you. However,” Tom sneered, “I am threatening one Miss Dorea Black.” At that, Potter blanched.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Would I? Do not cross me and we won’t have to find out. Have a good evening, Potter.” Tom swept out, leaving a pale and sputtering Potter behind him. Love was disgusting and made you too vulnerable to manipulation. Tom would never degrade himself like that. He would never be that weak.

He decided to call an impromptu meeting with his Knights. He apparently needed to remind them that they were _not_ supposed to let Peverell make other friends. Tom decided that he’d punish Rosier and make an example out of him to the others. Peverell and Nott seemed like they were getting along but Rosier must have somehow offended Peverell, with the way that the newcomer avoided him. He knew exactly how he’d do it. It was finally time to implement a plan he had been contemplating for a while now.

His Knights were gathered together waiting nervously when he walked into their meeting room. They all hurriedly bowed, and Tom let them prostrate themselves for a moment longer than necessary before allowing them to rise and take their seats. “I am very disappointed with you. Harry Peverell has been here for one single day of classes and already has reached first name basis with Charlus Potter, someone who is decidedly _not_ a Slytherin and _not_ a Knight, and therefore someone he should not be associating with. I expected better from you. I require better from you. I will not be disappointed again. Going forward, Peverell will not ever be alone. You all will take turns keeping watch during the night. If he leaves, you will follow him. If he wakes up early, so will you. He will be escorted to every class and every meal and will not be allowed to sit next to anyone but us. If you have to hex someone to get their seat, so be it. If you are the reason he escapes our sight, I will be immensely displeased and you will be suitably punished.” Tom paused his tirade. “Nott. You were the one who spent the most time with him. Tell me what you learned.”

“Peverell was quite sociable with other students. He seems like he is a very opinionated person, and mentioned that the Hat had considered putting him in Gryffindor, of all places. He did not appear to enjoy History of Magic and instead spent the class drawing random designs on his parchment. He mentioned that his previous teacher for History of Magic only taught about the Goblin Wars, but did not elaborate any more on his previous schooling.” Nott glanced up at Tom. “You were right, my Lord, about his power. It was so strong I could almost feel it wrap itself around me. It felt Dark. If we can persuade him to your cause, he would be an incredible asset.”

Tom pushed away the jealousy he felt at Nott’s reverent tone, because he was right. Peverell’s magic felt as strong and dark as a moonless night. It was truly worth reverence. “Thank you, Nott. You have done well.” He saw Nott smile at the praise. “On the other hand, you, Rosier, have not done well. I am very displeased with how quickly you managed to alienate Peverell. My Knights, I have devised a system, a way of marking my members to aid our cause. Using it, I will be able to contact you wordlessly and privately, as well as many other benefits. It will become more useful as we gather more members, but for now, Rosier will be the first one to bear my Dark Mark. The spell itself will be painful but I have a charm that will prevent the pain. Due to my displeasure, Rosier, I will not be using the charm on you. Come here.”

Rosier came forward nervously, as he should have been. “Roll up your left sleeve. This will hurt a lot, but remember, Rosier, this is an honor not a punishment.” The way Rosier screamed as Tom burnt the Dark Mark into his skin seemed to say that Rosier did find it a punishment. He eventually collapsed and passed out from the pain. Tom scoffed, but casted the pain relieving spell. “Let it be known that your Lord does show mercy. You are all dismissed.” Tom stepped over Rosier’s body and headed back to the dorm. Rosier would wake up sometime later that night and it wasn’t Tom’s problem if he got in trouble on his way back to the dungeons.

***

Harry was being driven positively batty. It had been only two weeks since classes had restarted and he had not had a single moment alone since. Riddle’s minions practically frog marched him from class to class, surrounded him at meals and glared at anyone who dared approach him during lessons or in the library. Harry could not stand it. He couldn’t even run to the loo in the middle of the night without bedcurtains twitching and at least one pair of eyes peering out at him. Even Charlus was avoiding him and Harry hadn’t had a chance to ask why without some Slytherin hurrying him along or Charlus rushing away. Harry wanted to scream. He was going absolutely and utterly bonkers.

The worst part about not having any privacy was that Harry hadn’t been able to slip back to the Room of Requirement and do more research on Horcruxes. He had no idea how he was going to ever find the Horcruxes of people he knew nothing about, when it took ages, lots of information and pure luck to find all of Voldemort’s.

Classes were not going too well, either. If they had partners, Riddle would always claim him and Harry had the worst time concentrating on classwork with Riddle beside him. Death had been less than helpful with Ancient Runes, as in providing zero help and leaving Harry high and dry three years behind in the class, and History of Magic was just as boring and useless now as it was in his time. Luckily, he had set up a meeting with Headmaster Dippet to see if he could drop the class. Of course, Rosier decided he had to accompany Harry so the two of them went to the Headmaster’s office together, Harry stewing angrily.

“Rosier, I do appreciate you walking with me, but I do not need a chaperone,” Harry complained. Rosier just shrugged. Harry tried again. “Look. I need to speak with the Headmaster privately. Alone. Would you be willing to just wait outside for me?”

“Fine. Just don’t leave without me.”

“I won’t. Thank you,” Harry lied. There was no way he was going to wait for Rosier like a well-trained pet. As soon as he was done talking with Dippet, he was going to put on his Invisibility Cloak and make a run for it. He might have a few hours of delicious solitude before Defense started in the afternoon.

Dippet readily allowed Harry to drop History without much convincing. Harry just said that he was having a hard time settling in, especially with taking so many classes, and he was unenrolled like magic. It wasn’t long before Harry was under the Cloak and slipping past Rosier, before escaping into the empty hallway and sweet, sweet freedom.

He ended up taking the familiar path up to the Gryffindor Tower. He missed his friends, though he knew they weren’t there yet, and wouldn’t be for a long time. Some of the Slytherins were growing on him, like Nott with his dry humor and Malfoy, who was surprisingly tolerable, especially compared to his future grandson. But neither of them came close to Hermione and Ron, Neville and Luna. Luna somehow had known that he was going to be sent here, but then again, Luna always seemed to know things. He wondered if she would be able to help him now but doubted it.

Coming to the Gryffindor Tower had been a good decision, because Charlus Potter had just exited alone from behind the Fat Lady. Harry snagged onto the sleeve of his robe and pulled him into a nearby alcove.

“What the-?” Charlus screeched.

“Shh. It’s just me, Harry.” Harry pulled off his cloak. “I needed to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry, Peverell but we can’t be friends.”

“Why not? Did Riddle threaten you?”

“He didn’t threaten me,” Charlus said, but refused to meet Harry’s eyes. “I really am sorry, but I have to go.” Harry sighed, and left, not noticing how Charlus sent a suspicious glance over his shoulder at Harry’s cloak, noticing the similarities between that one and the one that disappeared just before break.

Harry wandered the castle beneath his cloak morosely, saddened by his conversation with Charlus, but also angered. Tom Riddle needed to get over himself and let Harry actually interact with other people. He wasn’t sure how much more of the constant following he could take before he started hexing every Slytherin that came within a few meters of him. And he knew how to cast a mean Bat-Bogey, courtesy of Ginny Weasley. Harry really needed to stop thinking about his friends. It was only making him sad and distracting him from the task at hand: neutralizing Riddle and his Horcrux.

He reluctantly took off his cloak and started down the halls towards the Defense classroom. He didn’t want to give up his freedom, but he _did_ enjoy Defense, especially since Professor Merrythought was a very competent teacher. He hadn’t had such a good instructor since Remus. He refused to think about the fact that Remus was dead now, and that little Teddy was an orphan.

There was a seat saved for him, because of course there was, between Nott and Riddle. He smiled a little when he saw Rosier rush in moments before class started, looking harried and panicked. He didn’t feel bad.

Harry adored Professor Merrythought. She was a tough and practical old woman who knew what she was doing and was very good at imparting her knowledge on the class. Even though he was somewhat of a Defense prodigy, he still learned something during each lesson, even the review lessons that she had every now and then.

“Good afternoon, class. Today we are going to review boggarts.” Harry’s heart sank. He hated boggarts almost as much as he loved Defense. Merrythought briefly covered for the class what a boggart was. “Does anyone remember the spell we use? Peverell?”

“ _Riddikulus_ , ma’am.”

“Good! Five points to Slytherin. Alright, everyone, you all are going to face the boggart one at a time. If anyone laughs at someone else’s fear, you will have detention with me every night for a month.” Both Riddle and Nott on either sides of him seemed just as reluctant as he was about facing their boggarts. “Rosier! You first. Chop chop!”

They slowly cycled through the students in the class. Most of them had common fears, like spiders and the dark, though someone had Grindelwald and a few too many had family members. Nott’s was his father and when he sat back down, he was flushed with anger and embarrassment.

Riddle’s boggart was an unmarked grave, and he had a very hard time transforming it. Harry had never seen Tom struggle like that before, and he felt almost bad for him, until he remembered what Tom’s fear of death would lead him to do.

It was Harry’s turn far too soon, and he went up to the front of the classroom, unsure of what he would see. The boggart’s form flickered between his friends’ dead, soulless bodies with a dementor hovering above them. He saw Neville, Sirius, Hermione, Ron, and Luna before finally settling on Cedric, the first person whose death was his fault. The dementor-boggart pulled down his hood and advanced towards Harry.

“ _How do you think you can save his soul if you couldn’t save theirs?”_ the dementor rasped in a voice that sounded like the creaking of icebergs. Harry panicked.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” he shouted and his Patronus cantered out, making the dementor-boggart recoil. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry, Professor Merrythought. That wasn’t the spell I was supposed to use. _Riddikulus_!” He visualized the dementor as Luna wearing her glasses upside down while reading _The Quibbler_ and smiled fondly.

“Bravo, Mr. Peverell! A fully corporeal Patronus is most impressive. Would you be able to cast it again?”

“Of course, ma’am.” He cast his Patronus and realized that it wasn’t Prongs anymore.

“A thestral! Having a magical creature as your Patronus is even more impressive. You are a lucky and powerful young man.”

“Thank you.” Harry took his seat, shocked by the change. Nott clapped him on the shoulder, while Riddle looked at him thoughtfully.

“How long have you been able to cast a corporeal Patronus?” Riddle asked after class.

“Since I was thirteen.”

Nott gave a low whistle. “That’s incredible for someone so young!”

Harry blushed. “It’s not that impressive.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Peverell,” Riddle interjected. “Being able to cast a Patronus is impressive at any age, much less so young. Who taught you?”

“A friend of my father’s. My Patronus used to be a stag, the same as my dad’s Animagus form but it changed for some reason.” Harry frowned. He was going to miss seeing Prongs. “It’s very strange.”

Later that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about what the dementor-boggart had said. How could he save Tom’s soul? He wasn’t even trying! He was too caught up with being frustrated and angry to bother trying to find a way to heal Tom’s soul. Harry resolved to try harder. Maybe if he joined Riddle’s stupid little band of sycophants, they would let him have some time alone, time that he could spend researching. He could make nice with Riddle for a while, couldn’t he?

It seemed like a viable plan, at least until Harry woke up in the middle of the night to Tom Riddle standing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You survived! This is not my favorite chapter but I'm super pumped for the next one! Sorry for the cliffhanger. Not really. I love you all!


	7. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! This chapter, we have a creepy Tom, a creeped out Harry, then an angry Tom, and a melancholy Harry. And no cliffhanger! Snorri means "attack, onslaught" while Oddson means son of Odd. Odd as a name means "Point or edge of a sword." Nāḥāš is Hebrew for snake. It's pronounced with the h low in your throat and the s is pronounced like sh.  
> There's a bit of a trigger warning for this chapter. There's cutting, not the self harm type but the type for scarification, which is a form of permanent body art. There is also a discussion about child abuse. I've made the Dursleys in this story more abusive than in canon.

**_Snorri Oddson_ **

_Known as the Terror of the North, Snorri Oddson was a wild brute of a man with a penchant for the darkest of Dark magic and for causing death and destruction. He was a member of the Jomsvikings, a group of mercenary Vikings who remained faithful to their pagan heritage and still worshiped the Old Gods during a time of rampant Christianization of Europe. The Jomsvikings had a strict code outlining acceptable behavior, and Oddson was banished after slaying one of his fellows in drunken anger. From there, he began his path of destruction through Europe, with the end goal of reaching as far North as he could go. He carried a heavy broadsword that he imbued with part of his soul, so he could carry his Horcrux everywhere as well as have a nearly indestructible weapon. His trail of carnage appears to end when he reached the Artic Ocean beyond the Barents Sea. Legend says that he remains frozen in an iceberg, waiting to be thawed and continue his destruction._

Tom was many things, but he was not a creep. He may have been an evil genius, an aspiring dictator, and a soon to be Dark Lord, but he was not a creep. However, he could see how he may have _appeared_ to be a creep to Harry Peverell, whose startlingly green eyes flew open just as Tom touched the scar on the middle of his forehead. The moment the tip of his finger connected, Tom was flooded with pleasure and gave out an embarrassingly breathy moan. His knees buckled and he tumbled onto the bed, landing heavily on top of Peverell.

“What was that?” they both said, before Peverell shoved Tom off of him.

“Get off me! What the bloody hell were you doing?” Peverell shouted. “You’re fucking insane!”

Now, Tom couldn’t exactly defend himself because he didn’t want to admit his reasonings, which were perfectly logical to him but wouldn’t seem that way to Peverell. He knew that Peverell had nightmares and would sometimes talk in his sleep, so when he put up an extra strong Silencing Charm before he went to bed, Tom knew that he was worried about what he would mumble. Whatever they were, the nightmares were probably triggered by Peverell’s peculiar boggart. Whose soul was he trying to save, anyways? But Tom couldn’t help his curiosity, so he used this handy trick where he cast a Silencing Charm around himself and it allowed him to slip inside Peverell’s Charm without alerting him or breaking the Charm.

Tom was rather disappointed with what Peverell was murmuring, saying words phrases like “I’m sorry,” “serious,” and “hurt my knee.” But then his scar started to bead blood like it had never fully healed, and Tom was suddenly curious about what Peverell’s blood would taste like, and the red just looked so pretty on his pale forehead with the puffy, inflamed scar that looked just like the rune sowilo, and Tom couldn’t help but touch it. Which brought him to the present moment, with an understandably freaked out Peverell and a confused, jelly-legged Tom.

“You know what? I don’t think I want to know what you were doing. Can’t you just leave me alone?” Peverell pushed past Tom and started pulling on his robes over his pyjamas. “I don’t give a damn about curfew. I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” Tom grabbed at Peverell’s arm, but he pulled out of reach.

“Just leave me alone! I’m not going to join your stupid club and I’m not going to be your friend or fucking follower!”

Tom followed him into the common room and, panicked, cast an _Imperio_ to prevent Peverell from leaving. _Turn around_ , he commanded, _bow to me._ Tom needed to get him under control. Peverell turned around, but his eyes were blazing furiously.

“I will _never_ bow to you and I will _never_ serve you. Look around you. Everyone fears you, and most hate you. Power won by fear is easily lost. You know, I think I actually pity you. You must be so lonely.” Peverell walked to the door. “I’m finding somewhere else to sleep. Don’t follow me.”

Tom stood alone, in the common room, unsure of how things had gone so wrong.

***

Harry was quite disturbed. Waking up to his arch nemesis turned project standing over him touching his face was not the way he planned to start the day. Not even close. Harry refused to think about how good it felt when Tom touched him. And then Tom had the audacity to try and use the Imperius on him. Then they fought, though it was understandable from Harry’s perspective because Tom was weirding him out. It was confusing for Harry. This wasn’t the Tom Riddle Harry had expected. The Tom Riddle he met from the Diary, and the Riddle he saw through memories was charming, clever, and charismatic. This Riddle was creepy and a little socially awkward. Something was off, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Harry headed towards the Room of Requirement. He needed to figure out what he was going to do and see if his relationship with Tom was salvageable after this. If it wasn’t, Harry would probably have to kill him again, which was not the preferable route. He was lucky that Tom had only made one Horcrux so far, and that he knew what it was. It was going to be a nightmare to find the Horcruxes of people he knew nearly nothing about. Maybe Death would have a solution.

It turned out Death _did_ have a solution, which was imparted on Harry when he got to the Room of Requirement. _There is a ritual I know of that will bestow on you a form of mage sight. It will allow you to see the inherent magic of both people and objects, making it possible for you to identify Horcruxes. The ritual itself is simple, but painful, and must be performed at a time where the barrier between the realms are thin. Unless something occurs that allows the barrier to be thin enough, then only other time to perform the ritual will be on Samhain. If the ritual can be performed sooner, I will let you know. With Riddle, you are on your own._

The mage sight ritual sounded quite helpful, if Harry was going to be honest with himself, though he wasn’t quite sure what mage sight would entail. He was a little leery about the ritual being painful, but how bad could it be? He supposed he’d find out, though he did not fancy having to wait many months until Samhain. It meant that he had a lot of time before he could even start working on the other Horcruxes, so he would be able to focus on Tom for now.

Harry had no idea what to do. He had never been anything close to socially competent and was struggling with how to handle Tom. He wasn’t even sure if Tom would be able to forgive him. He supposed that he could bribe Tom into forgiving him, or at least tolerating him, and he knew exactly what to use. He had a letter to write.

By the time Harry made his way to the owlery, it was early morning and the castle was slowly waking up. He passed a Ravenclaw leaving the tower on his way up. He chose one of the school’s brown barn owls and sent it on its way with the letter tied to its claws. He stood at the window, watching the owl disappear into the distance, missing his Hedwig dearly.

“If you apologize to him and beg for forgiveness, he might not punish you too severely.” Harry turned around to see Orion Black speaking to him. “If you don’t, he’ll hurt you badly. There’s no point in refusing to apologize. He always gets his way in the end. You’re just making it worse for yourself.”

“I think I have it under control,” Harry said, coolly. “Your warning, while appreciated, was unnecessary.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Peverell. You should be careful.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He knew Tom Riddle more intimately than Orion Black ever would. “I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.” Orion came closer to Harry. “I’m sorry for this, Peverell. You seemed like a nice person.” Orion shoved Harry, hard, and he tumbled out of the window. Too stunned to cast a spell or anything, the last thing Harry saw before his body hit the ground and stained the late January snow red was a pale face that reminded him too much of Sirius.

***

“You did _what_?” Tom yanked a fearful Orion Black towards him with a harsh grip on his Slytherin tie. “ _Show me_.” It wasn’t hard to find the memory, with it being so recent. And, anyways, Black had always had quite weak Occlumency shields. Tom watched, betrayed, as Black warned Peverell, and then in horror as he watched Peverell tumble out of the window and heard the sickening crunch as his body hit the ground. The sight of Peverell’s broken body made Tom feel peculiarly sick.

“I am so sorry, my Lord,” Black stuttered. He had no idea how sorry he was going to be. Tom forced Black through a secret passage in the Common Room that led down to the Chamber of Secrets. He was going to make Black suffer for touching what was his.

“You should consider yourself lucky, Black. You’re the first person not descended from Slytherin himself to enter the Chamber of Secrets. It’s a shame you might not ever leave.” Tom shoved Black onto the cold floor and used a spell to paralyze him, then gave him a hard kick to the ribs for good measure. “Did you know that Slytherin’s monster is a basilisk? That’s how poor Myrtle Warren died. Nāḥāš is hungry, but I don’t think I’ll feed you to her yet. I want you to suffer first.” Tom summoned nearly a hundred little snakes surrounding Black’s prone body. “I’ll be back for you later.” Before he left, he cast two quick spells, blindfolding him as well as preventing him from hearing anything, leaving him alone in the dark silence, with only the snakes as company.

With Black out of the way, Tom headed to the base of the Owlery Tower. At the bottom, there was an empty indent in the snowbank stained red. Peverell’s body was gone.

***

On his way down, Harry wondered if he was actually going to die. The snow didn’t cushion his fall even the slightest, and he was in excruciating pain as his bones broke, then knitted back together. Death wasn’t going to let him die until his tasks were done. _Your near death will be enough to complete the ritual. I strongly recommend you go somewhere safe where you will not be disturbed. Your body will require rest to recover._ As angry as he was at Orion, he could almost thank him for making it so he didn’t have to wait until Samhain.

Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement, requesting the Room to make sure no one else could get in. He sat on the floor and waited for Death to explain the ritual. _For the ritual, I will be controlling your body once again. With the dagger I gave you, I will carve runes into your skin. It requires a steady hand, so I will do it for you._ Alright. That did sound quite painful, especially considering that the dagger had been soaked in basilisk venom. But Harry was about as ready as he’d ever be, and just wanted to get it over with. He took the dagger out of his mokeskin pouch and held it loosely in his hand.

“I’m ready,” he said to the empty room, and his hand started to move. He started to carve the rune ansuz, for insight and true vision into his upper left bicep and quickly understood why Death insisted on doing it. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain and it was only the first rune. He made it halfway through the carving of perthro, for secret and hidden meanings before he fell completely unconscious.

Harry woke up two days later, opened his eyes, and promptly threw up. Everything was so bright and so colorful and it made him nauseated. He carefully opened his eyes again, very slowly this time. Everything had a blurry halo effect, and aura surrounding it, and he realized that the colors were probably the magic. It was beautiful, though dizzying and painful. He groaned and closed his eyes again. It was going to take a lot of getting used to.

He opened his eyes again and looked at his arm. The runes looked inflamed and were still slightly oozing blood. He grimaced. The Room magically produced some medical supplies, and he bandaged up his arm as best he could. The basilisk venom in the wound would prevent it from getting infected, but he wanted to try and stop the bleeding. But, Merlin, his head was killing him and he just wanted to go back to sleep but he wasn’t sure what day it was and if he had classes. He wished there was a way to turn off the mage sight. He tried pulling up the Occlumency barriers Death had given him, and he was able to mute the colors somewhat, enough that he didn’t get dizzy when he moved his head. It would have to be good enough.

Harry stumbled through the halls back to the Slytherin dorms. He hadn’t showered in days and he felt filthy and in need of a change of clothes. It must have been around dinner time because the Common Room was nearly empty. He went up to the en suite bathroom and immediately took a shower. The hot water felt like a blessing on his sore muscles that ached from spending two days on the floor. He carefully washed his arm, making sure to not irritate the wounds, and watched the blood swirl down the drain, slightly regretful at the new additions to the scars covering his body. It was kind of amazing, though, how good of a healer Death good be. He had no bruises at all from his fall.

He dried off, and wrapped his arm up again with bandages, and put on some clean clothes. His hair had gotten long, and it was slightly more manageable than when it was short, but just barely. He dragged a comb through it then gave up. He left the bathroom just as Riddle entered the dorm. Tom looked at Harry, shocked. Harry looked at Tom, shocked too, because Tom’s aura wasn’t bright the way other people’s were. It was a muted, muddy green instead of a vibrant color. He found it disturbing.

“How are you alive?”

“Can we make a deal, Riddle?” Harry asked. “I know you’re curious about me. If you leave me alone, and make your minions stop following me, I’ll answer a question. Just not about how I’m alive. And I reserve the right to veto questions.”

“Fine. But I also want to touch your scar again.”

Harry sighed. “Deal. But you have to tell Charlus Potter that he can talk to me again. What do you want to know?”

Tom thought for a while. He obviously had many questions, and wasn’t sure which one to ask. He finally settled on one. “Whose soul are you trying to save?”

“I’m not answering that one. Choose a different question.”

“Fine. When you first came here, you said I ‘wasn’t supposed to haunt you anymore.’ We had never met, so what did you mean by that?” Harry hesitated. He could answer that one with a partial truth.

“I’ll answer that one, but it’s a bit of a long story and I want to go somewhere private.”

“Let’s go to the Astronomy Tower. There aren’t any classes on Sunday nights and it’s usually empty.”

Harry nodded. “Lead the way.” He followed Tom up to the tower, and they sat on the floor of the balcony together. “You remind me of someone I used to know. I think he could have grown up to be very similar to you if the circumstances had been different. I grew up being raised by Muggles. My dad was a pureblood but my mum was Muggleborn, and when they died, I was raised by my aunt and uncle. The two of them were devout Catholics, and hated everything related to magic, so they tried everything they could to take my magic away. After multiple exorcisms failed to work, my uncle got it into his head that he could beat what he called the Devil’s Influence out of me. Honestly, if I _didn’t_ have magic, I likely would’ve died multiple times. My friend Roger wasn’t so lucky. We went to school together, and were each other’s only friends. It was nice, because we were able to relate to each other in many ways, though his dad was just an angry drunk who got violent when he ran out of alcohol. Roger didn’t have any magic, though, so when his father pushed him down the stairs one night, there was nothing to save him and he broke his neck. He died sometime during the night and they found his body when his mum tripped over it in the morning.” Harry’s voice turned bitter. “His mum and I were the only ones to go to his funeral. His dad went to prison and his mum drank herself to death a year later.”

Harry glanced over at Tom. “You look just like him. Ever since he died, I’ve felt so much guilt, like I could have done something to save him. I know I couldn’t have, we were both only ten, but still. I think I see him sometimes, and when I saw you, it felt like he had just died.” And it was true. Harry’s childhood friend did look a lot like Tom, and it was sometimes hard to look at him. Roger would have probably been just as handsome if he had lived this long. What Harry left unsaid, however, is that he saw a lot of himself in Tom Riddle, and it scared him how easily Harry could have turned out the same.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. I feel guilty just the same.” They sat in silence together for a while, looking up at the stars.

“I was exorcised, too. It was not pleasant.”

Harry snorted. “I can’t imagine it was. But I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry it happened to you, too.” Harry looked at Tom, a bit shocked at his empathy, wondering if he was faking it or if he actually felt bad for Harry. He wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

They sat together for a long time, quietly, before Harry stretched and stood up. “I think I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Could you please stay a little longer?” Tom asked. Harry smiled slightly and sat back down. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this peaceful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a sad ending there, but we have the beginnings of bonding! Things might be a bit easier for Harry at Hogwarts after this.  
> I've sorta given up on attempting to use 1940s language. I know Tom would notice Harry's speaking differently and be on it like Donkey Kong but I'm struggling enough with using british slang, magic slang, and trying to erase my own local slang. I don't think Harry would say "you betcha!" instead of sure.  
> Also, I'm not sure if this is a thing, but I read the BEST fic the other day so I'm gonna link it here. I might do that every chapter. It'll be like my own personal recommendations! The story is a Harry/Regulus story and it makes me reallllly want to write one, but I'll wait until I'm done with this one first. I have so many ideas for other fics but I want to finish this!  
> The story is called "A Study in Choices and Second Chances" by queenofthedagger. Here's the link! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486791/chapters/56314453
> 
> Oh, and my source for rune meanings came from here: http://www.sunnyway.com/runes/meanings.html


	8. The Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! I'm back, with a slightly longer chapter than usual! We have some bonding in this chapter! Always the best. And Harry gets a very special opportunity. Maricara means 'sea of bitterness' whereas cel Tradat means 'the betrayed.' Naming has been a lot of fun. Too bad that this was my last one I named myself :( oh woe is me!

**_Maricara cel Tradat_ **

_As an accomplished Dark Witch, Maricara cel Tradat was the magical advisor and Court Witch for Vlad Dracula the Impaler, the famously cruel ruler of Wallachia, the land that is now known as Romania. Cel Tradat used the numerous victims of Vlad’s violence as test subjects for necromancy, a branch of Dark magic she was especially talented at. Beginning her experimentations with a modified version of the Imperius Curse, cel Tradat was the inventor of the spell used to create Inferi. She actively encouraged Vlad’s cruelty and bloodthirstiness, Together, they both searched for a way to reach immortality. She was able to make a Horcrux, but Vlad was not magical, and therefore did not have a magical capable of being split. As such, cel Tradat had to find another way._

_Using her abilities as a necromancer, she tried to create a potion that would allow Vlad to be immortal as well. Her experimentations mainly relied on her limited knowledge of vampires, and therefore used a variety of different types of blood, from both magical and mundane creatures, in hopes that one of them were allowed Vlad to be immortal like a vampire, but not have as many negative side effects. However, consuming blood, especially from a variety of magical sources, was not good for Vlad’s already violent temperament, and he rapidly lost his sanity and became even more of a vicious tyrant. Vlad’s frequent consumption of blood led to the story of Count Dracula, written by Bram Stoker, a Squib._

_Along with other types of magical experimentation and research, cel Tradat was particularly interested in wandlore. She was the person who discovered that phoenix tail feathers had to be provided willingly, when the wand she created with a stolen feather exploded, destroying both her and her workroom. She has walked the Earth as a shade ever since._

Tom was very cruelly awoken by the bright sun, and cursed whoever left the curtains open, only to remember that the Slytherin dorm rooms had windows letting in filtered light from the lake, and not light from the sun itself. He opened his eyes, realizing that he had fallen asleep on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, and that the person snuggled up against him, clutching onto his arm like a teddy bear, was none other than Harry Peverell. He tried to pull away his arm, but Peverell only held on tighter. He sighed.

“Peverell! Wake up!”

Peverell’s eyes opened slowly, and he blinked blearily around until he realized exactly whose arm he was holding onto, and leapt away, blushing furiously. “Merlin, I’m so sorry!”

Tom ignored him, instead staring at Peverell’s left bicep, were it looked like some blood had seeped through the clothe. “Is your arm alright?” Peverell glanced down at his arm, and somehow managed to turn an even brighter shade of red.

“It’s fine!”

Tom reached out and snagged Peverell’s arm, and pushed up his sleeve before he could pull away. Beneath some haphazardly applied bandages, there were fresh cuts in the shape of runes, done in a far neater hand that what Peverell could draw himself. Tom lightly traced one, ignoring Peverell’s slightly hitched breath. “You should keep these clean. You don’t want them to get infected,” Tom commented. “I can wrap them up for you. Unless you want me to walk you to the hospital wing?”

“I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but I can do it better. Let’s head back to the dorms.” Once there, Tom pulled a chair into the bathroom and had Peverell sit on it while he cleaned the cuts. The blood coming out was tinged green, but the wounds themselves didn’t look infected. It was strange. “How did you get this?”

“It was part of a ritual.”

“A ritual for what?”

“It’s supposed to help me see more clearly,” Peverell simply said, offering no more information. Tom started wrapping Peverell’s arm up carefully.

“How do you not hate muggles?” Tom suddenly asked.

“I don’t hate muggles because wizards are no better, and I think I’d be a very sad person if I hated everyone. It seems easier to hate, but it does no good in the long run.” Peverell looked at Tom soberly. “I used to let myself be controlled by hate, but it led me into making decisions I now regret. I don’t even hate the man who killed my parents anymore. I did, for a long time, but once I met him, I only felt pity. He was a man corrupted by hate, and it only caused more hate. I didn’t want to be part of that cycle, and I refused to let myself.”

“What do you mean ‘wizards are no better?’”

“You saw Nott’s boggart. Violence and cruelty are human traits that muggles and wizards alike have. There are muggles who are vicious and evil, and there are wizards who are just as bad.”

“But we have magic!”

“What good has magic ever done me?” Peverell stood up while Tom looked at him, gob smacked. “Thank you for helping me. Please don’t forget to talk to Charlus. I’m going to get some breakfast before class starts.”

Tom watched him leave, still shocked by the despair Peverell had when talking about his magic. He had never come across someone who didn’t like their magic, who didn’t appreciate it. The idea of not liking your magic was practically sacrilegious. Peverell didn’t know how lucky he was. He didn’t deserve his magic if he had that mindset. It disgusted Tom. And Peverell had far too much self-loathing considering how he said he felt about hate. He didn’t understand how someone could hate what made them powerful.

He followed Peverell up to the Great Hall a few minutes later, and sat down at his spot at the head of the Slytherin table. The owls came flying not long after, and, surprisingly, Peverell received a letter. Tom leaned over but couldn’t quite see what it said, but he recognized the stationary as the style used by Borgin and Burke’s. He had purchased a few things there, and was desperately curious to know what Peverell was looking for. He seemed to have found it, because Peverell smiled, looking pleased, before scribbling a quick response and sending it off with the owl that sat there patiently, nibbling on a piece of bacon.

“You may want to be careful about having items delivered here from Borgin and Burke’s. Hogwarts will confiscate any Dark materials that are mailed here.”

“Thank you for the warning, but I’m not having it delivered here. And anyways, it’s not Dark, just a family heirloom that I’ve been searching for.”

“Where are you having it delivered?”

“Apparently, there’s an ancestral Peverell townhouse in London, so I’m sending it there. I’m having the whole place fixed up a bit so I have somewhere to live this summer.” Peverell smiled happily. “I’m excited to have a home.”

Tom tamped down his jealousy. “That sounds nice.”

“Oh, it is! I’ve heard that Peverell House is beautiful, if a bit out of date. I haven’t had a chance to visit yet, of course, but I’m looking forward to seeing the place.” Peverell cheerfully munched on a piece of toast before speaking. “I know it’s still the winter, but do you have summer plans?”

“No,” Tom bit out. He hated being reminded of the fact that he didn’t have a home. “I’ll most likely be studying for the NEWTS.”

Peverell grimaced. “That’s probably a good idea. I am _not_ looking forward to taking my NEWTS. I’ve heard that they’re, well, nastily exhausting.”

“It _is_ in the name.” Tom finished up his last sip of tea. “We should probably start heading towards Potions. We don’t want to be late.” Peverell nodded, swallowing, before standing up as well. As they walked, Tom couldn’t help but feel like he had forgotten something, even though he checked, and he had his Potions guide as well as all of the other things he needed for class. Still, there was this niggling thought in the back of his brain that something was missing, but he shrugged it off. It couldn’t be that important.

They sat down at a workstation together, and Tom lit the fire beneath their cauldron. Slughorn had written on the board in large letters “Draught of Living Death.” Tom looked over, and Peverell was flipping through his Potions manual trying to find the page.

As soon as the class started, they got to work, with Tom regulating tasks to Peverell while doing the more delicate work himself, only to look over in horror as Peverell smushed the Sopophorous bean with the side of his silver instead of cutting it.

“What are you doing?”

Peverell looked over at Tom, confused. “I’m juicing the bean. Have you not made this before?”

“You’re supposed to cut it, not smash it!”

“Crushing it gets the juices out better. It’s like cooking You smash the garlic clove with the side of your knife to get the juices before slicing it.” Tom just shook his head, watching fearfully as Peverell scraped the bean, juices and all, into the cauldron. “Just trust me.” Tom started stirring the potion counterclockwise carefully, but it was staying at a frustratingly bright shade of purple instead of a pale lilac. Peverell peeked over. “Try adding a clockwise stir every seventh counterclockwise stir.” Tom reluctantly tried it, and was quite surprised when the potion quickly lightened up, turning nearly white with the slightest hint of lavender.

Slughorn waddled over and peered into their cauldron. “Bravo, my boys! Your potion looks practically perfect! If anything, it might be a bit _too_ potent. You should be very proud. Clean up, and you can be dismissed early.”

Tom bottled up a phial of the potion while Peverell started to clean up the workstation. “How did you know that would work?” Tom demanded.

“Well, I used to cook a lot and Potions is just cooking with higher stakes.” Peverell shrugged. “It’s not that hard once you get used to it.”

“ _Not that hard_? Peverell, the Draught of Living Death is an incredibly difficult potion and you executed it nearly perfectly! You are an incredibly talented wizard.”

Peverell frowned. “Well, you helped too. It wasn’t just me.” Tom frowned. Peverell was exasperating with how he refused to take a compliment. Tom never complimented people, so Peverell should feel honored, not dismissive.

They had finished packing up and started to leave, when Slughorn stopped them at the door. “By the way, Tom, have you seen Mr. Black? He hasn’t shown up to class yet.” Shit. That was what Tom had forgotten.

“He did mention that he was feeling a bit under the weather last night. He may have just overslept. If I see him, I’ll send him your way.”

Slughorn patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good lad, Tom.”

When they had exited the classroom, Peverell turned to Tom with a frown. “I didn’t see Black in the dorm this morning. Where could he be?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. He’ll turn up eventually.” He ignored the suspicious look Peverell gave him.

“I hope so. I’m going to the library to work on my Arithmancy homework. You’re welcome to join me.”

“I’ll pass, but thank you.” They parted ways, and Tom hurried to the Chamber of Secrets.

Orion was lying on the floor in a puddle of his own filth, still where Tom had left him immobilized, silently crying. Tom nudged him with his toe, and Black screamed. Tom crouched down next to him, and canceled the spells he had cast. “You know, Black, you are very, _very_ lucky Peverell somehow managed to survive. Otherwise, I may have left you here for a long time more.”

Black had struggled onto his hands and knees, and was kneeling subserviently at Tom’s feet, where he belonged. “I am so sorry, my Lord.”

“You should have known better than to touch what is mine, Orion. I won’t ever be this forgiving. If you make a mistake like this again, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” Black was sobbing now, pleading with Tom. It was nice having someone grovel, even though the show was rather pathetic. “Stand up and stop crying. Go clean yourself off. You’re disgusting me.” He half dragged Black out of the Chamber. If Tom hurried, he’d still be able to meet Peverell in the library.

It was just his luck that he came across Charlus Potter on his way to the library. Remembering his promise to Peverell, Tom stopped him. “Look, Potter, you can talk to Peverell again.” Potter blinked at him behind his hideous glasses in shock.

“And you won’t hurt Dorea?”

“I won’t,” Tom ground out, still bitter that he even had to do this.

“Alright, then. Thank you.” Tom hoped it was worth it.

It turned out that it was worth it, because when Charlus Potter sat down next to Peverell during Transfiguration that afternoon, Peverell looked at Tom and gave him a brilliant smile. He’d talk to Peverell that evening and find out when he could touch his scar again. He hadn’t ever felt good like that before, and he both craved the feeling again but was also dying to know what caused it. Peverell was still such a mystery.

They were learning Human Transfiguration, practicing changing each other’s hair colors. Peverell had changed Potter’s hair to a rich red while Potter had made Peverell’s hair turn bubblegum pink, which set the both of them off laughing. For some reason bothered, Tom overcharged his spell and accidentally caused Nott’s eyebrows to turn orange and grow long until they covered his eyes. It was of course at the very moment Dumbledore walked by, and he decided to use Tom’s mistake as an example to the class. By the time the period was over, Tom was fuming.

Potter and Peverell went to the library together after class, while Tom returned to the Slytherin Common Room. He took his place in the comfiest armchair in front of the fire, brooding, while a few of his Knights gathered with him. Black had tried to join the group, but Tom practically growled at him, so he slunk away fearfully. The other Knights noticed, but didn’t comment. Tom cast a quick Silencing Charm before addressing his followers.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the change in strategy with Peverell. Let him have space but make sure he does _not_ get hurt. If he does, you will sorely regret it. You’re all dismissed.” With that, they all meandered away, save Abraxas, who sat down in the chair next to Tom and pulled out some homework. Tom himself began to read the latest texts on Potions techniques, curious to see if there was anything about how Peverell had crushed the Sopophorous bean. There wasn’t, but he ended up getting engrossed in a discussion of how the differences between a self-stirring rod and a regular rod could affect a complex potion.

It was late, and the Common Room had started to empty out. Even Abraxas packed up his things and headed to the dorm for the night, with a muttered “goodnight” to Tom.

“Is it alright if I sit here?” Tom looked up to see Peverell standing hesitantly next to the recently vacated seat at Tom’s right.

“Of course.” Peverell sat down and pulled out a book from his satchel. Tom looked curiously at the title. Peverell was reading a book called _Dark Artists: Practitioners of the Darkest Magicks Throughout the Ages_. “I thought you dropped History of Magic?”

“I did. I’m reading this on my own. History can be quite fascinating when it’s not taught by a ghost.”

“That book looks interesting.”

“I’d say the same about your Potions book, but it does look rather dry. You can borrow mine, though, when I’m done.” Peverell smiled at him. “Thank you for talking to Charlus. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m not one to break promises,” Tom said rather stiffly, because talking to Potter had been a promise he had really wanted to break. “You do have to fulfill your end of the bargain. I want to touch your scar again.”

Peverell sighed. “Let’s wait for everyone to leave the Common Room first.”

“Fair enough.” They sat together reading for a while. Tom noticed that Peverell wasn’t focusing on his book, instead staring at Tom only to look back at the same page when Tom looked at him. Eventually, Tom got tired of waiting, and with a few pointed glares, the remaining stragglers left the Common Room, leaving Tom and Peverell alone.

Peverell sighed once again, and reluctantly moved his fringe out of the way, baring his scar. It was no longer inflamed, but lightly scabbed over. Tom slowly reached out and touched the scar lightly. Like before, he felt immense pleasure, feeling _good_ in a way he had never felt before. It was like what he imagined coming home would feel like. Safe, and complete.

“Sweet Circe,” he breathed. “Do you feel it too?” Peverell gave a jerky nod, his dilated eyes nearly glowing in the firelight. Tom greedily pressed harder and nearly lost himself in the feelings before Peverell pulled away. His scar was bleeding again. “What causes that? I’ve never felt anything like that before.” Tom wanted to feel it over and over again.

“I have no idea,” Peverell said, before abruptly standing up. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Riddle.” Tom watched him go, wishing he would stay so he could feel that feeling again.

Tom followed Peverell up to the dorms not much later. He couldn’t stop thinking about Peverell and the scar and his need to feel complete like that again. He’d find a way. He’d tie Peverell up and keep him locked in the Chamber forever if he had to. Anything to allow him that feeling. Peverell belonged to him. Now, he didn’t _want_ to hold Peverell hostage. As much as it infuriated him, Peverell excited him and he would hate to see that spark go out. No, he’d have to find a different way to make Peverell his. He’d find a way to own him.

That night, his bed felt so much colder than usual, and so much larger.

***

All of the different auras were giving Harry a headache. There were just so many colors and they all made him dizzy. He couldn’t help looking at them. They surrounded everyone and everything, even the very stone floors and walls of the hallways emanated a faint golden glow. He was especially fascinated by the auras that surrounded the other students and the teachers. The Great Hall during mealtimes looked like an especially bright and colorful Jackson Pollock painting. It was positively dazzling.

Harry noticed no particular pattern to the color of the auras. It wasn’t like all Slytherins had green and all Hufflepuffs had yellow. Most did have a single color, though some had multiple shades of the same color. Dumbledore stuck out amongst everyone, with an aura as violently bright and nauseatingly colorful as the robes he wore. He had given up trying to decipher a reasoning behind the colors when he noticed that quite a few students had very murky auras, like Tom. It was like their auras were diseased. There were students from every House that had this strange muddiness, but the majority were from Slytherin. Harry wondered what caused it. And later that evening, when it was just him and Tom in the Common Room, Harry couldn’t help but stare, trying to figure out what was going on.

But then, of course, was the whole fiasco with his damn scar, and Tom’s obsession with it. Harry felt it too, the strange and inexplicable pleasure where before there had only been pain. Unlike Tom, he didn’t like it. It actually made him quite uncomfortable, but that was understandable, considering his scar had been a source of pain and sorrow for his entire life. And Harry knew what was causing the feeling. It was that awful little shard of Tom’s soul still stuck in his forehead that seemed to sing when it got into contact with the much larger section of soul that remained inside Tom. Harry was _not_ planning on telling Tom what was causing the feeling. Harry didn’t put it past Tom to kidnap him and hide him somewhere, maybe even in that awful cave where the locket used to live. Harry shuddered. That would not do.

The important task for Harry was to get the shard out of his head and into Tom, along with the diary. But from the research he had been doing, he knew that Tom had to _want_ to be whole again. Harry couldn’t force him to reabsorb his Horcrux, and Tom’s ability to feel remorse was still a long way off. It was rather frustrating, feeling so stuck, though he knew he had literally all of time at his hands. He just wanted to be able to fix Tom’s damn soul so he could start to work on the next people, and then maybe go home, though he wasn’t exactly sure where, or when, home was.

It was still early in the morning and Harry was already in a miserable mood. He munched morosely on his toast in the Great Hall and wished desperately that it was time for bed again. The only possible good part of the day was that he had a double Defense period with the Gryffindors, but even that wasn’t enough to cheer him up.

“By the way, Peverell, is Harry short for anything?”

Harry looked at Abraxas Malfoy, surprised. “Yes, actually. It’s short for Henry. It’s a family name.” Harry was even _more_ surprised because he did not know where that came from. By this point, though, Harry was in the habit of blaming strange happenings on Death. It had worked well for him so far. Riddle looked up at him sharply, but didn’t say anything, so Harry shrugged it off. He had more important things to do than obsess over Tom Riddle’s strangeness, things like figuring out how to save a soul or what all the damn colors meant, or why Orion Black wouldn’t look at him without turning faint and nearly running away. The last one probably did have something to do with Tom, but at that point, Harry just didn’t care. He turned back to his toast.

In Defense after breakfast, Harry sat between Charlus and Nott. To Harry’s delight, the two of them had been getting along. He had even seen them studying together in the library, without him! Harry felt so proud. He ignored Riddle sitting on the other side of Nott, pouting. Honestly, he was like a child!

Professor Merrythought smiled at Harry when she walked to the front of the classroom. Harry smiled back. He really adored Professor Merrythought, and he had a feeling that she enjoyed having him as a student.

“Good morning! I have had multiple requests recently from students to teach the Patronus Charm. Since we are slightly ahead of our curriculum, I decided to teach it today. To preface, this is an incredibly challenging charm, so do not feel discouraged if you can’t produce a corporeal Patronus. Even conjuring white mist is an achievement to be proud of. Alright! First, who can tell me what the Patronus Charm is used for?”

An unfamiliar Gryffindor raised his hand. “It’s the only defense against dementors, professor.”

“Correct! What else can it do?”

Harry raised his hand, and Merrythought called on him. “You can send messages with it.” She looked at him, surprised.

“That I did not know. Could you demonstrate for the class, Mr. Peverell?”

Well, shit. Sending messages via Patroni must not have been invented yet, but Harry had already opened his mouth and it was too late to take it back. Harry stood up, and quickly cast the spell. It was still a bit startling to see a thestral as opposed to Prongs, but he sent the thestral trotting over to Merrythought where it spoke the word “demonstration” in his voice.

“Bravo, Mr. Peverell! While that was not the answer I was looking for, you’ve taught me something today. The other Dark creature a Patronus can ward away is a lethifold.” Merrythought continued to lecture about the two Dark creatures for a brief while, before asking them to push the tables against the walls. “The incantation itself is simple. Say the words ‘Expecto Patronum’ while moving your wand in a clockwise circle. The key to manifesting a corporeal Patronus is imagining your happiest memory while casting the spell. The happiness from the memory will power your spell and produce your Patronus. Let’s get started!” And with that, the entire class began to make their first attempts at casting a Patronus. Harry stood to the side, feeling awkward. He didn’t exactly need practice casting the spell, so he tried to stay out of the way, at least until Charlus pulled him over and asked for help.

“How do you do it so easily?”

“Practice?” Harry said. “It took me a while to actually have a corporeal manifestation. It wasn’t until I nearly got Kissed that I was able to do it.” Charlus looked at Harry, dumbfounded.

“You nearly got _Kissed?_ ” he screeched. Harry winced. He forgot that he didn’t have typical childhood experiences.

“Yeah. It was unpleasant. I don’t recommend it.” Charlus kept staring at him. “Try casting it again. Really focus on your memory.” Charlus did, begrudgingly, and finally managed to conjure some faint silver mist. Harry clapped. “Great job! Keep trying.”

Harry spent the rest of the class being called over by random students from both Houses asking for help whenever Professor Merrythought was busy with a different student. He was starting to feel like he was back in the Room of Requirement with the DA. He missed them a lot. He missed teaching. He saw Riddle struggling, not able to conjure even the slightest puff of silver but was too proud to as for assistance. Harry didn’t offer.

Class was over soon, but Professor Merrythought asked him to stay behind as they were putting the room back together. He followed her to her office, taking a seat in the comfy chair in front of her desk.

“Have you thought of what you’d like to do once you graduate from Hogwarts?”

“I haven’t,” Harry replied.

“This is a conversation usually held with your Head of House but I have a feeling that Horace may have neglected his duties as usual. Now, Mr. Peverell, have you ever considered becoming a teacher?”

“I haven’t really thought of anything, to be honest, ma’am.”

“I have an offer for you. I can tell that you are incredibly skilled at Defense, as well as are a natural instructor. I’ve been aiming to retire for a few years now, but I’ve held off until I was sure I could find a suitable replacement. If you’d be willing, I’d have you sit for your NEWT in Defense this spring with the seventh years, and I’ll tutor you in preparation for receiving a Mastery in Defense over the summer and the next school year. By the time you’d graduate from Hogwarts, you’d be ready to receive your Mastery and take over as the professor here.” She looked at him over her glasses. “Does that sound amenable to you?”

Harry was stunned at the offer. He had always liked teaching the DA, and he was rather good at it, but he worried about the fact that he wasn’t exactly permanent to this time. But the offer was so tempting, and he loved the idea of not being an auror and choosing to do something nonviolent with his life. He’d do it, and figure something out later for when he inevitably went back to his own time period. “That sounds fantastic!” he gushed.

“Wonderful. I’ve already spoken to Headmaster Dippet about this, so we can get started right away. How does extra tutoring on Monday and Thursday evenings sound? We can start next week.”

“That works perfectly. Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome. You’re free to go, Mr. Peverell. I’ve held you long enough. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, so make sure to get outside and relax.” She smiled at him kindly. “I expect great things from you. Great things indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You survived! Congrats. So we're getting to the point in the story where I have ideas for what's gonna happen, but no concrete plan. I'm mostly just trying to string together scenes that I have already with scenes that I need to make up. If there's anything you guys would like to see happen, let me know and I'll maybe write it in. Thank you guys so much for reading this story. I LOVE you all and I hope y'all are staying happy and healthy! *sending hugs*


	9. The Fight, Or the One Where Harry Throws Dumbledore Under the Bus and Backs It Up Over Him Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo! It's me! With a new chapter! The beginning part about Gerbold Ollivander is partially from Pottermore/the Wiki. What's in quotations is a direct quote. I did not name Gerbold, so I have no meaning of the name to share. Sad, right?   
> Also, be excited! It's my very first attempt at writing a fight scene. I'm not sure if I did a good job, but hey! I'm probably getting better. At least I hope I am.  
> Please enjoy!

**_Gerbold Ollivander_ **

_The grandfather of Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker who crafted both Tom’s and Harry’s wands, Gerbold Ollivander was just one member of an illustrious line of wandmakers, working in the craft since 382 BC. The Ollivanders were known for both their deep knowledge of wandlore as well as their often-tenuous grasps on reality. Studying wandlore changes a wizard, so it is understandable that a family with blood steeped in the magic of wands would experience time, magic, and the universe as a whole differently to normal wizards. Many who meet an Ollivander would describe them as eerie or uncanny, especially disturbed by the silvery eyes that seemed to see too much._

_Gerbold was just as unnatural as any other Ollivander, and just as talented. He considered wands made from fir to be “the survivor’s wand” after selling fir wands to three wizards who managed to escape from situations of mortal danger unharmed. He also made many wands from silver lime, a wood that was particularly favored by Seers. His own wand was made of hornbeam, which “selects for its life mate the talented witch or wizard with a single, pure passion, which some might call obsession.” Gerbold’s obsession was the study of the Elder Wand._

_Like most wandmakers, Gerbold believed that the one true Elder Wand did exist. Giving up tracking it, he instead turned his attention to attempting to replicate it. He experimented with all different manners of cores matched, of course, with elder wood. All trials failed, whether they produced a normal wand or exploded, causing damage. One failed experiment erupted in Gerbold’s face, nearly killing him. He survived, but lost his left eye as well as gained heavy facial scarring._

_Gerbold refused to face defeat, but feared that another failed experiment would be enough to kill him before he had faithfully replicated the Elder Wand. He foolishly chose to make a Horcrux to allow him forever to reach his goal._

Trips to Hogsmeade did not inspire the same type of joy in Tom as he saw in his classmates. He didn’t have much money to spend, but even if he did, he had no taste for chocolate or sweets, and abhorred butterbeer. He did have appearances to keep up, though, so every time there was a trip to the small town, Tom bundled himself up in his Slytherin scarf and warm cloak and trekked down with the other sixth-year Slytherins. The only redeeming factor of a trip to Hogsmeade was their bookstore that stocked some of the more rare books. He could spend hours just browsing, but his companions got restless quickly and he could never spend anywhere near as much time there as he would have liked.

Peverell had asked Tom if he’d like to go with him, and Tom agreed to meet him at the gate. Peverell had neglected to mention that Potter was coming along as well, but Tom grit his teeth, then smiled. Potter glared at him, but Peverell gave him a bright smile.

“Thank you for coming, Riddle! I’m quite excited. My godfather used to give me chocolate from Honeydukes and I haven’t had any since he died.” Peverell’s smile dimmed a bit, but then he blithely carried on, babbling happily about all the things he wanted to do in Hogsmeade. How could someone be so bloody cheerful? Potter was looking at Peverell fondly, so, irritated, Tom hooked his arm with Peverell’s and started pulling him towards the village. To his dismay, Peverell reached out to Potter and pulled him along as well. Potter linked arms on the other side of Peverell, and Tom was feeling so hot with anger that he was surprised the snow around him wasn’t melting. How dare Potter think he could touch what rightfully belonged to Tom? His fingers itched to send a hex, or maybe even a small curse at Potter, but he refrained from doing so, not wishing to upset the rather fragile peace between him and Peverell. Potter would get his comeuppance, though. It was just a matter of time.

Once in the village, they met up with some of the other Slytherins. Malfoy, Nott, Rosier, and Black were standing outside of the Three Broomsticks. The moment Black saw them, he squeaked, and ducked to hide behind Malfoy. Tom sneered.

Peverell, on the other hand, looked at Tom chastisingly. “What did you do to him? He won’t even look at me!”

“Nothing,” Tom said innocently. Peverell looked at him in disbelief. “I just made sure he wouldn’t try anything again.”

The five of them, excluding Black, chatted quietly for a moment while Potter awkwardly stood a few meters away, looking increasingly uncomfortable. Tom sent him a smirk over Peverell’s head, and Potter flushed angrily.

“Harry, didn’t you say that you wanted to get some chocolate from Honeydukes? We should go there now before the line gets too long,” Charlus said.

“Alright,” Peverell chirped, before looking over at Tom. “Would you like to come along as well?”

Tom did not find the idea of being in the overly bright and overly crowded candy store, but he liked it better than leaving Peverell alone with Potter, who would probably try to fill his head with warnings about how Tom was dangerous. Tom _was_ dangerous, but not to Peverell. At least not at the moment. So Tom agreed to come along, and his followers trailed after them, probably eager to get candy as well. Tom though sweets were a horrible waste of money.

Peverell bought the most ridiculously oversized bar of chocolate Tom had ever seen. The thing was as long as his wand, and nearly as wide! But Peverell somehow managed to just shove the monstrosity into his little pouch he always had, along with the various smaller bars he had purchased as well. It honestly made Tom feel a little sick.

“Looks like it’s going to snow,” Peverell commented, while sucking on a sugar quill. The sky had darkened even though it was still early in the afternoon, and the air was even chillier than before. Peverell’s breath puffed out in front of him like an ice dragon. For some reason, Tom couldn’t stop watching his lips. Tom wrapped his scarf around his neck a bit tighter, moving it up so it covered his nose and mouth, then went to adjust Peverell’s hat, pulling it down so his ears were better covered. Peverell blushed and batted his hands away. Tom shivered despite the numerous warming charms he had spelled on both himself and his clothes.

“We might want to return to the castle,” he said. “Something feels off, like it’s unnaturally cold.” Peverell paled, pointing towards the sky.

“Dementors,” he whispered, then immediately started shouting, telling everyone to go inside as quickly as possible. “Charlus, can you try to gather the younger kids and bring them into one of the stores?” Potter nodded, and scurried off to help. The dementors began to descend onto the main street of Hogsmeade, and Peverell cast his Patronus just as a horde of black-clad wizards Apparated on the other end of the road. Peverell glanced behind him and cursed.

“I’ll go try to keep them off. You keep up your Patronus,” Tom said. Peverell looked hesitant, then nodded, and Tom gathered his small group of Knights and together they began to fight. Tom had never dueled like this before and he found it utterly exhilarating _._ He felt _alive_ in a way he never had before, and he was able to cut down swathes of the attackers. More dementors came, though, and, distracted, Tom wasn’t able to pull up a shield quickly enough to escape a vicious cutting hex to his thigh, and he stumbled, then fell as the oppressive coldness of a dementor had him scrambling backwards until he was pressed against the wall of one of the shops that lined the street.

His hand shook as he tried to cast a Patronus, but he couldn’t produce even the slightest mist and all he could hear were the jeers of children calling him the devil and the air raids as he felt what remained of his soul get sucked out. He was terrified. A Horcrux wouldn’t be enough to save himself from dementors, and he did not want to die. He was so scared as the world around him got dimmer and colder and his eyes almost slipped shut, but suddenly there was light again as Peverell’s Patronus warded the dementor off. The world was light again, and the sun surrounded Peverell with a glowing halo as if he were a glorious angel, and Tom had never seen anything so beautiful before in his life.

“Are you alright?” Peverell asked, offering him a hand, which Tom took gratefully. Peverell pulled him to his feet, then rummaged around in his pouch and handed Tom a small chocolate bar. “Eat this. Chocolate will help.” Then Peverell was running off, still casting his Patronus with one wand, but firing off curses with a second wand Tom had never seen before. Tom followed him, protecting Peverell’s back. Tom couldn’t let him get hurt. They ended up standing back to back in the empty street, surrounded by enemies on either side, both wizards and dementors.

The two of them were accomplished duelists and were able to keep the attackers at bay for a while, but Tom knew they couldn’t keep up forever, and that they couldn’t rely on anyone to come save them. He wasn’t a religious person, but at that moment, Tom prayed to Magic itself, begging to be spared. He knew he’d never make another Horcrux, not since he knew how truly precious his soul was.

Tom was resigned to his fate of being either a soulless body or a bodiless wraith when Peverell started to _scream_. It wasn’t a scream of fear, but of rage and primal power. Dumbstruck, Tom watched as the dementors’ shrouds fell to the ground, empty. Peverell had managed to do the impossible, had somehow managed to kill dementors! The attacking wizards saw that, and most began fleeing, Apparating away. One stayed long enough to cast a spell towards the sky. Emblazoned in fire were the words “GIVE IT BACK.”

Peverell fell to his knees, and gave Tom a feral smile, his teeth stained with blood, blood pouring from his nose and from his ears, then Peverell passed out completely, face down in the snow.

***

Harry had been looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend with a trip to Hogsmeade where he could buy enough chocolate to feed a small army, and still have some left over. He did get the chocolate, but the trip itself was neither nice nor relaxing because the small wizarding village was attacked by hordes of dementors and wizards. For a moment, Harry thought they were Death Eaters, but they didn’t exist yet, and he caught sight of the symbol on their robes. It was the sign of the Deathly Hallows, and he knew these were the followers of Grindelwald.

Harry could cast a very powerful Patronus, but he was only one wizard, so he sent Charlus to try and protect the children. He kept seeing Colin Creevey’s dead body and he didn’t want the blood of more children on his hands. He was grateful when Tom took his minions to fight the Acolytes, but the relief didn’t last long when he heard Tom scream. Harry was lucky his Patronus got there in time. He couldn’t put Tom’s soul back together if it had been consumed by a dementor.

There were so many of them. There were hundreds of them, and only one of him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold them off. He tried to pull Death to him, to get some aid, and he nearly sagged with relief when he heard Death’s creaking voice, a voice that sounded uncharacteristically furious. _These abominations were supposed to serve me, and no one else. Give me your blood and lend me your body, Little One, and I’ll Banish them from this world._ That sounded pretty good to Harry, but his hands were currently occupied so he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek until his mouth started to fill with blood, and he once again had that eerie sensation of not being in control of his body. He screamed, and he could feel the power rushing through his body, and it felt like his very being was ripping apart, his cells overcharged and on the verge of exploding. He saw the shrouds fall gracefully to the ground with wonder and fell to his knees. _Sleep, my Little Champion_ so that’s what he did.

When he woke up in the hospital wing, night had fallen, and he could see the stars twinkling in the cloudless sky. He tried to sit up but couldn’t. He was so incredibly bone achingly tired, and he felt drained and confused.

“You’re awake.” Harry looked over to see the Mediwitch of that time, a woman whose name he couldn’t remember. She bustled over to him and helped him sit up. “You did an amazing thing, Mr. Peverell. I’ll go let the headmaster know. He wants to talk to you.”

“What happened?” Harry rasped, and the woman winced.

“I’ll let the Headmaster explain.” She started to walk away, then paused. “There’s a young man who’s been waiting outside of the hospital wing since you got here. He’s refusing to leave until he knows that you’re awake. Is it alright if I send him in?” Harry nodded, weakly, and she smiled at him kindly and left, conjuring a set of curtains to offer him so privacy on her way.

A few moments later, Tom slipped through the curtains. He was paler than usual, with red-rimmed eyes. Slowly, the memories from before began to fill Harry’s head, and he started to panic. “Riddle! Are you okay? Did anyone get hurt?” He nodded, and for a moment, Harry thought he was about to cry.

“I think at this point, you can feel free to call me Tom.” He laughed slightly, but there was no humor. “I am fine, but not everyone is. They killed Abraxas.” Tom’s face crumpled, showing emotions that Voldemort was incapable of feeling. But Harry knew exactly what Tom was feeling: the guilt of surviving and losing a friend.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I know the two of you were very close. If you need anything, you can always come to me. And you can call me Harry if you’d like.” Tom just nodded, and seemed to close himself off, so Harry let it rest.

After a few moments of silence, Headmaster Dippet, Dumbledore, and Professor Merrythought shuffled in. Dippet looked serious, Dumbledore afraid, and Merrythought had a bit a pride thrown in with her solemnness.

“Mr. Riddle, you are dismissed. Please return to your dorm,” Dumbledore commanded.

“Please, sir, is it alright if he stays?” Harry asked, and Headmaster Dippet’s eyes softened.

“Let him stay, Albus,” Dippet said. Dumbledore reluctantly nodded, and the three of the conjured chairs and sat down. “I’m glad to see that you’re awake, Mr. Peverell. You did a wonderful act of magic that saved many lives today. As headmaster of Hogwarts, I am incredibly grateful. That being said, we do have a few questions for you. Firstly, I’d like to know what exactly you did to destroy the dementors.”

“To be honest, Headmaster, I have no idea, but whatever it was nearly killed me. I could feel my soul almost tearing away from my body.” Harry looked at the headmaster. “If I knew, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.”

“Alright. I’m not sure if you are aware, but the attack was done by the Acolytes, followers of Grindelwald. Before they left, one of them projected the words ‘give it back.’ Do you have any idea what they were referring too?”

At this, Harry realized that when he arrived in this time, the version of the Elder Wand was given to him. Of course, Harry couldn’t just tell them that he now had Grindelwald’s wand, which just so happened to be the most powerful wand in existence, so he pretended to be confused. “I have no idea, sir. I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”

“Don’t apologize, Mr. Peverell. We just have one more question. Why do you have Grindelwald’s mark on your chest?” Harry involuntarily rubbed at the scar that had appeared when he had accepted the Peverell inheritance.

“It’s not _his_ mark, it’s the Peverell crest. He stole it!” Harry said angrily, because it truly was something that had irritated him, that Grindelwald had besmirched a powerful symbol.

“Why would he steal the Peverell crest?”

“Because he’s a madman who believes the Deathly Hallows actually exist!” Everyone surrounding his bed looked at him, shocked, except for Dumbledore.

“The Deathly Hallows?” Dippet asked.

“You’ve all heard the Tale of the Three Brothers, right? There’s a group of people who believe the artifacts actually exist, and that if you gather them all, you’ll become the Master of Death. And those people believe that the three brothers from the story were Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell, from whom I’m descended. And because people believe that they were Peverells, many people who seek the Hallows try to hunt down whatever Peverells remain in hopes of finding the artifacts. Those are the people who killed my family!” Harry said angrily, even though he was stretching the truth a little bit. Grindelwald, Voldemort, they were both insane Dark Lords so it didn’t really matter if he was blending multiple stories. “The triangle represents the Cloak, the circle is the Stone, and the line is the Wand, but it’s not true. If they did exist, Death accepts no master.”

“If Grindelwald is hunting these Hallows, do you think Grindelwald’s forces attacked because he knew you were here?”

“I don’t know. Possibly?” Harry sighed. “I have no idea how he’d know if I was alive, much less where I was. Unless Professor Dumbledore told him?” He turned to Dumbledore. “You two were friends, right?”

Dumbledore looked horrified. “Of course not!”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked with false innocence. “My parents lived in Godric’s Hollow for a while, and my mum became close with Bathilda Bagshot. A few years ago, I traveled there to see if she could tell me stories about my parents since they died when I was very young. She had some marvelous stories to share, but then she also warned me to stay away from you and your friend Gellert Grindelwald. She said that the two of you were planning on finding the Hallows and taking over the world together to establish dominance over the Muggles. Is that why you’re always staring at me?”

Dippet turned to Dumbledore as well, who had turned very pale. “Is this true, Albus?”

“We were friends, but not anymore! He killed my sister, and we never spoke again afterwards.”

“Was it actually him who killed Arianna?” Harry added helpfully. “She told me that no one was really sure who killed her, and that Aberforth definitely blamed you.” Now both Dippet and Merrythought were glaring at Dumbledore, and Tom seemed rather pleased.

“We will talk about this later, Albus. Mr. Peverell, are you certain that the Hallows are not real?”

“Yes. If they were, and if I had them, I’d bring my family back.” Harry looked at Dippet sadly. “As you can see, I’m still quite alone.”

Dippet gave Harry a pitying look. “We will let you rest now, Mr. Peverell. Thank you for answering our questions, and for saving so many lives today.” The three professors stood up to leave, with Dumbledore giving Harry a death glare.

“Wait! Tom told me that Abraxas Malfoy died. Did anyone else?”

Dippet sighed sadly. “Yes. Two Gryffindor fifth years died, a Ravenclaw sixth year was Kissed, a couple villagers were kissed as well, and a third year girl from Hufflepuff has disappeared. Please don’t blame yourself. You did more than what anyone thought was possible. You should get some sleep. You used a lot of magical energy today.”

“Thank you, Headmaster. Have a good evening.” As the professors were leaving, Harry looked at Tom. “I’m sorry that you had to sit through that.”

“No, thank you for letting me stay! Was what you said about Dumbledore true?” Harry nodded, and Tom smiled. “It would be a shame if more people were to learn about this, don’t you think?” The two of them laughed, but Tom quickly turned serious. “Truly, though, thank you. You saved me.”

“You’re my friend, Tom. Of course I saved you. I wouldn’t let a friend die if I could help it. I am sorry about Malfoy.” Tom looked sad again, and Harry was still amazed by the emotions Tom Riddle was capable of that he wasn’t in Harry’s time.

“I think I’m going to get some sleep myself, Harry. Thank you again. I hope you sleep well.” Before he passed through the curtains, he turned around. “Are the Hallows real?”

Harry just shrugged. “Who knows?” Tom nodded contemplatively, and left. Harry was alone now in the hospital wing. He sent out a quick thanks to Death, not expecting a response, so he was startled when Death spoke to him. _I have regretted making dementors for a long time now. They were supposed to help me collect souls, but they went rogue and started to consume them. Thank you for allowing me to use you to get rid of some of them. You should be very proud of yourself, young Champion. You have made great progress. Today, Tom Riddle decided to not make any more Horcruxes. If you continue to make progress, I think you can start to remove some of the previous Horcruxes beginning in the summer. Rest now, Little One. I’ll speak to you soon._

Harry slipped into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I love being mean to Dumbledore. It gives me such joy. I hope you liked the chapter!!  
> As a side note, would anyone be interested in a Harry/Draco soulmate AU? I'd probably do it with a female Harry because tbh I think I suck at writing guys. If that's something you'd like, I'll start it when I'm further into this story. I want to make sure I actually finish this/don't procrastinate writing.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING I LOVE YOU ALL!


	10. Funerals and First Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo! Howdy folks! Sorry this took so long! Online college and depression decided to just fuck me right up but I'm back! With a full chapter! I'm so proud.

Harry had never seen a Malfoy cry with such raw, emotional sorrow. Sure, he had seen Malfoy cry a few times, but it was usually from anger, frustration, desperation, and fear. And Harry had certainly never seen Lucius cry. He wondered if Lucius was even able to have emotions, but then remembered fondly the fistfight he had with Mr. Weasley his second year. But this current Lord Malfoy was obviously devastated, and Harry couldn’t help but feel bad.

“Lord Malfoy lost his wife a few years ago and swore to never remarry,” Tom whispered to Harry. “Abraxas was all he had left. Now no one knows what will happen to the Malfoy line with the heir dead.” Harry suddenly realized that no Abraxas meant no Lucius, and no Lucius meant no Draco. For the very first time since he had literally fallen into this time, he realized that maybe meddling with time would cause changes. He remembered Hermione’s warning from their third year, about how wizards should never meddle with time or else they could become unborn, or worse, expelled! Harry didn’t know now if there was going to be a future for him to return to, and what type of future it would be. He supposed Death wouldn’t let him make himself unborn because then he’d have no one to do his bidding, but everything else could be completely different. Maybe things had already changed, and he didn’t know it, because his memories changed too? Harry quickly dropped that train of thought before he drove himself mad.

Class had been canceled the days after the attack, allowing the students to grieve and recover. Students were permitted to leave the school grounds for the funerals of those who died, hence Harry sitting in his best dress robes beside Tom in the Malfoy family cemetery for Abraxas’s funeral. Harry had only ever been to one wizarding funeral, Dumbledore’s, and the one for Malfoy was quite different. Yes, they both had speeches and crying guests, but where Dumbledore had been set on a pyre that turned into a marble tomb, Abraxas Malfoy was lowered into the ground. They buried his wand with him.

After the funeral was over, Harry stood awkwardly to the side while Tom spoke to Lord Malfoy. Harry hadn’t known Abraxas for very long, and he felt out of place among the mourners, though he felt a lot of sympathy for Lord Malfoy, and more than a small amount of guilt for letting Abraxas die. Logically, he knew it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t make Grindelwald attack, but it _was_ his fault that Grindelwald no longer had the Elder Wand, and anyways, logic had never been Harry’s strongest skill. Logic was something that Hermione excelled with, and Tom, too. But Harry was getting to know Tom better and better, and he could tell that Tom was struggling with keeping his emotions in control. Harry pitied him. Tom had the right to feel grief over the loss of his friend, and it saddened Harry that Tom wasn’t letting himself feel sorrow. Harry could see all of the pain flickering behind Tom’s eyes, and he wished he would just release his control for a moment and start to feel.

They took a Portkey back to Hogwarts. When they returned to the Slytherin Common Room, Tom just stood staring at the chair Abraxas usually sat in, with his fists clenched and his jaw tight. At this point, Harry wasn’t sure if Tom was sad or angry, though he hoped it was the former. An angry Tom was liable to do something dangerous or harmful. Harry was honestly surprised that Tom wasn’t planning his revenge on Grindelwald, though Harry had no way of knowing if he wasn’t. They were on first name basis now, but hadn’t quite reached the level of friendship required for sharing illegal plots and dangerous adventures. Harry almost wished for a mountain troll. Nothing brought people closer together than a mountain troll in the girls’ bathroom. It was a tried and true method!

By the tenseness in Tom’s posture, Harry knew that Tom was feeling more anger than sadness, though the anger was likely covering up the sadness. It was time for Harry to intervene, so Harry walked over and tapped Tom lightly on the shoulder. He jumped slightly. “Are you alright?” Tom spun around.

“Do I bloody look like I’m alright?” he snarled, and Harry took a step back. Maybe this wasn’t his best idea, but Tom seemed to pull his feelings back inside tightly with a mighty sigh. “I apologize. I think I need some time alone.” He stalked off, leaving Harry to once again question his social skills.

Even though classes had been canceled, it was Monday evening and Professor Merrythought still wanted Harry to start his extra training. He made his way up to the Defense classroom, and ended up sitting in Merrythought’s office, a situation that reminded him of his third year but with Remus instead of Merrythought.

“Alright, Mr. Peverell. The first rule of Defense Against the Dark Arts is this: to fully understand Defense, you must understand the Dark Arts themselves. Can you tell me what the difference between Dark Magic and Light Magic is?”

“I don’t know, professor,” Harry said, stumped and mildly annoyed that he had never learned exactly what the difference was.

“The vast majority of magic is neutral on its own. In general, it is the intent and the emotions that fuel the intent that governs whether something is Light or Dark. You can cast the Imperius Curse fueled with the aim to protect and it would be considered Light in the eyes of Magic, while using a healing spell with the aim of getting someone ready to be tortured again would be considered Dark. Of course, the majority of magic users don’t view it the same way. Most view magic that they’re afraid of as Dark, or magic that they deem harmful. The only magic that is truly Dark is magic that requires an unwilling sacrifice. That, and necromancy. I want you to forget everything you’ve previously thought about Dark magic so you can continue to learn with an unbiased mindset. I have a few books I’d like you to read to get a better understanding of magical theory, and to start learning the basics of the magic that is considered Dark by the more foolish members of the magical population.” Merrythought summoned the books which neatly stacked themselves on the desk in front of him. “I also have the seventh year Defense textbook. I’d like you to skim it and mark what you don’t know and we can start covering the seventh year curriculum on Thursday. There’s one more thing before I let you go early tonight. To become a Master in Defense, you are required to make a presentation in front of a judging panel covering something new that you have developed, whether it’s a spell, a technique, or a way to enhance something that’s already been discovered. I’d recommend you start thinking about what you’d like to do since it will likely be the hardest part for you. That’s all for the night, Mr. Peverell. You’re dismissed.”

Harry gathered the books, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. He wasn’t worried about learning new material, but developing something new was not exactly his forte, and it would be especially difficult without him having Hermione to help. He had no idea where to even start! He wondered if he could visit the Peverell townhouse that he was planning on living in during the summer. It was supposed to have an absolutely massive library so he could probably find something to start on. Harry supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask Slughorn if he could visit, especially if he said it was to make sure he’d have a suitable place to live over the summer.

It was still rather early in the evening by the time Harry returned to the Common Room, so he sat himself down in one of the large armchairs and started to flip through the seventh year textbook. He was surprised to find that he knew most of it. It seemed like the seventh year curriculum mainly focused on dueling, which he was decent at. There wasn’t very much new material, it was just putting everything they had learned before together. He decided he’d get started on the books on magical theory the next day, and went to bed even though it was still rather early. It had been a long day.

He slept fitfully, waking up over and over, and finally decided to get out of bed around five in the morning. Tom’s bed was empty, and still made. He hadn’t come back to the dorm during the night. Harry wasn’t too concerned, so he went back to the Common Room with some books, hoping to start understanding the magical theory Professor Merrythought had explained to him. It was hard for him at first, to conceptualize that most magic wasn’t inherently Dark or Light, but he slowly got used to the concept, and it eventually made sense. Magic was only a tool and it was up to the wizard to use it well.

Harry still wasn’t concerned when Tom didn’t show up for breakfast, but he finally started to worry when he didn’t attend Ancient Runes. Harry knew that that was one of Tom’s favorite classes, and besides, he wasn’t known for skipping class. He wasn’t at lunch, either, and missed Herbology that afternoon. When dinner finally came and went with no sign of him, Harry sat on his bed with the curtains drawn shut and multiple privacy charms, and pulled out the Marauder’s Map, scouring it for Tom’s name. He was grateful that he had the foresight to add the Chamber of Secrets to the map, because that’s where he found Tom’s name. Harry decided to leave him be for now but would go down and get him if he didn’t show up by dinner the next day.

Harry wasn’t the only person to notice Tom’s absence. Both Nott and Rosier asked him if he had seen Tom, and even Slughorn asked him the next morning during Potions. Harry just told them that he had no idea where Tom was and wished them luck in finding him.

Potions was a good deal harder without a partner, though it was overall much easier without Snape terrorizing him, so Harry was able to finish a decently prepared potion even though he finished after most of the other students. He cleaned his station slowly and took his time putting away his materials, waiting until the other students filed out so he could speak with Slughorn in private.

“Professor,” he said as he approached Slughorn’s desk. “I was wondering if it would be possible for me to visit Gringotts this weekend. I know it’s unusual to be allowed to leave the school, but the goblins requested my presence to help set up an old family home so I’d have a place to live this summer.”

Slughorn looked at him. “It _is_ rather unusual, but your situation is unusual in itself. I’ll have to verify with Headmaster Dippet, but I see no reason why we couldn’t arrange a Portkey for you to take to Gringotts.”

Harry grinned. “Thank you so much!”

“Not a problem, my boy,” Slughorn said. As Harry started to walk out, Slughorn added, “Would you look after Tom for me?”

“Of course I will, sir. Thank you again for your help.”

***

Tom felt slightly guilty for snapping at Harry, but only slightly, though the fact that he was feeling _any_ degree of guilt was surprising in itself. He wasn’t used to feeling so much, and it was all a bit overwhelming. He usually only felt anger and bitterness, and sometimes a rare bit of happiness when something went well, but sadness was a feeling that was totally foreign. He had felt sad as a child, when he was all alone, but the sadness quickly turned bitter and resentful that this was his lot in life. He had always known he was destined for greatness, and great people weren’t plagued by pesky emotions.

It had been a hard day. Abraxas had been the closet thing to a friend that Tom had ever had, and the loss had not felt final until the funeral. He was not looking forward to going to back to the dorm room and seeing Abraxas’s empty bed, though the castle may have removed it already, which would be even worse.

He had gone to the Chamber for some solitude and non-human company. He sat on the floor and Nāḥāš coiled around him, making a cozy little nest. He rested his head on her cool scales and tried not to cry. Losing Abraxas hurt so bad, and he couldn’t get the image of Harry crumpling to the ground with blood pouring from his nose and mouth out of his head, and he knew he had been close to losing two special people that day. He didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of losing Harry made his heart ache in a way he didn’t know it could do, and slowly one tear leaked from his eyes, and then another. Soon he was sobbing, crying for the first time in years. He cried himself to sleep that night, nestled safely in the strong body of the basilisk.

He slept for an incredibly long time and was a bit dazed when he finally woke up. His face felt sticky from tears, and he angrily rubbed his eyes, hating how weak he felt. He was reluctant to get up, preferring to stay comfortable with the basilisk. Tom hadn’t realized until now how truly lonely he was and thinking about it made him angry. It didn’t matter, though. Powerful people rarely had friends, and he knew it was lonely at the top. Great people had followers, not friends, and even though he had lost the person who had been his closest and most loyal follower, it didn’t mean he was alone.

But Tom didn’t know what his plans were anymore. He had decided to not make another Horcrux, but he was now even more afraid of dying than before. What was worse was that he was afraid of other people, namely Harry, dying as well. He needed to figure out a way to protect his followers and avenge Abraxas. He’d need a solid plan if he was going to go against Grindelwald, and he loathed to admit it, but talking to Dumbledore might reveal some of Grindelwald’s weaknesses. Tom wasn’t that desperate yet, and he was sure he could find other ways. Harry probably knew more and would probably be willing to help, as well. He hoped that he’d be able to convince Harry to be his new right-hand man, since Abraxas was gone. Nott might be offended by that, but he’d have to get over it. Harry was far more powerful, and Tom just liked him more, which was reason enough on its own.

Starting to feel hungry, Tom eventually ventured upstairs. He was surprised to see that he had spent a full day and two full nights down in the Chamber, and had emerged just in time for lunch on Wednesday. And, because he was _so_ lucky, in time for his afternoon class of Transfiguration. He almost wanted to return to the Chamber, to hide for another day or so, but he was a Slytherin, not a coward, so he squared his shoulders and entered the Great Hall.

Harry was sitting at the Slytherin table, and he greeted Tom with a warm smile. “Are you alright?” Harry asked. “I’ve been so worried about you!” Tom was pleased, both that Harry cared about him, and a quiet part of him was pleased that Harry wasn’t upset with him.

“I’ve been fine. I just needed some time by myself.”

Harry looked at him sympathetically. “I understand. Losing friends is always very hard. I took notes for you in our classes. I didn’t want you to fall behind. I just hope they’ll be good enough for you.” Harry passed Tom a stack of parchment. “You should probably eat something before Transfiguration. You’re looking a little peaky.” Tom just nodded, suddenly very tired again despite the amount he had just slept. Harry was right. He did need to eat, and he’d need fuel to face Transfiguration.

Transfiguration managed to be even worse than usual. Tom just could not concentrate. Instead of conjuring songbirds like he was supposed to, Tom kept conjuring crows who would caw bloody murder before he was able to banish them. His brain just felt so foggy and full of thoughts he wished he could stop thinking. The titters from the Gryffindors were _not_ helping him. He could feel them smirking at him, enjoying that someone who got almost every spell right on the first try was struggling for once. He hated them.

He hated Gryffindors, but he hated Dumbledore even more. When Tom accidentally conjured a bloody toucan, Dumbledore paused at his table. “Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Riddle, for lack of effort.” Tom dug his fingernails into his palm, seething at the unfairness, but he bit his tongue and stayed silent.

“We all know you two hate each other, but couldn’t you stop your stupid little feud and cut him a break for once?” Harry said angrily from next to Tom. “He just lost his best friend. It’s understandable that his ability to focus is suffering right now!”

Dumbledore turned an ugly shade of maroon that matched his robes. “Fifteen more points from Slytherin, Mr. Peverell, and detention with me tonight.” Harry glared at him, but didn’t argue back when Dumbledore walked away, leaving the two of them alone.

“Damn bastard is acting like a child,” Harry muttered to Tom. “He’s a professor, shouldn’t he be a bit more professional?”

“You should be a bit more respectful,” Tom responded. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Harry snorted. “Since when has he deserved respect? And I did. He shouldn’t be picking on you.”

“I appreciate it.” Tom finally managed to conjure a songbird, who flitted over and landed on Harry’s head, chirping cheerfully. Harry laughed.

“I think it suits me!”

Transfiguration ended not long after, and the pair packed up and split ways, with Tom going to the library and Harry going who knows where. Tom wanted to get some homework done because he was on patrol duty that evening. Sometimes being a prefect was such a pain, but having power was worth it. He was aiming to be Head Boy the next year, and he had a good shot at it if Dumbledore didn’t interfere. Tom scowled. He’d have Dumbledore at his feet begging for mercy one day.

He got started on his homework. He had quite a bit of catching up to do, and he was grateful for the clean and detailed notes Harry had provided for him. It made learning the missed material quite easy, and he was able to finish most of the missed work by studying through dinner, so when it was time for him to pack up and start his rounds, he only had one short essay left to write. He’d get up early the next morning to finish it up.

Doing rounds as a prefect was usually incredibly boring, and that night wasn’t any different. Around ten thirty, he caught two fifth years snogging in an empty classroom and took points from them both, but that was about it until near midnight when his shift was almost over. Then, just as he was starting to head back towards the Slytherin dorms, he turned the corner and nearly tripped on Harry, who was lying on the floor in the middle of the hallway, giggling to himself.

“Tom!” he cheered. “I missed you!” He attempted to stand up, but wobbled, quickly lost his balance, and plopped back onto the floor, giggling the whole time.

“Harry? Are you drunk?” Tom bent down and slung one of Harry’s arms across his shoulders, hoisting him to his feet.

“Nope! Just had tea with Dumbly-dore. The tea burned though. Maybe he put firewhiskey in it!” Harry looked up at Tom loopily. “Do you think Prof’ser Dumbly-dore likes firewhiskey?”

“I don’t know. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Tom knew that Dumbledore almost certainly did not put firewhiskey in Harry’s tea, but he obviously put something in it, considering Harry’s current state. He tried supporting Harry as they walked to the dorm, but Harry kept stumbling. Finally, Tom just scooped him up and started carrying him. Harry was still too light, and his body felt terribly delicate in Tom’s arms.

“You’re so pretty, Tom!” Harry babbled, before bopping Tom on the nose. “Boop! Too pretty to have so many Wrackspurts. Don’t worry, though, I have them too.” He giggled again, then nuzzled into Tom’s neck. “You smell good. Always thought you were pretty ‘cept for snakey face.”

“You’re not making any sense, Harry,” Tom said, but Harry just flung his arm around Tom’s neck and continued chattering as if Tom hadn’t even spoken.

“Y’know I used to not see the Wrackspurts either but now they’re everywhere. Wish I could get rid of yours.” Harry yawned. “I’m sleepy. Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to bed,” Tom said patiently.

“Shouldn’t you take me on a date first?” Harry bopped Tom’s nose again. “Just kidding. You have a nice nose. Can I have it?”

“You can’t have my nose.” Tom was grateful that the Common Room was empty when they entered. He didn’t want anyone seeing him carry Harry like this. When they got to their room, Tom helped pull Harry’s robes and outer layer of clothes off before wrestling him into his pajamas. He caught glimpses of those mysterious scars again, the ones on his arm that seemed to nearly glow, as well as the scars he had seen that first night Harry had arrived, scars that lapped up the back and side of his torso like flames. When Tom finally laid Harry in bed and tried to pull away, Harry latched onto his arm, giving him a goofy smile.

“Thanks, Tom. Nighty night! Don’t let the nargles bite!” Harry let go and collapsed onto the bed, fast asleep. Tom looked at him for a moment, bemused, before drawing the curtains shut and climbing into his own bed. All he could think about was that Harry had called him pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm picturing Harry in the end like those videos of people when they get their wisdom teeth out and are as high as a kite. Also, they're bonding! Aren't they cute? I love you all and I hope you guys are doing well, staying safe, and staying healthy!


	11. Don't Drink the Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! I'm back with a new chapter! I'm gonna be honest, writer's block has been killing me lately and I'm not super proud of this but c'est la vie.
> 
> No beta so all mistakes are my own!

Harry woke up with a pounding headache and a cottony dry mouth. To put it frankly, Harry felt like absolute shite. He was also quite confused as to _why_ he felt hungover as he was not one to drink anything stronger than butterbeer.

_You must be more careful with what you consume, little one._ Death’s voice, creaky and filled with disapproval, just made Harry’s aching head. _I can flush potions from your system, but it is not automatic and can have unplanned side effects._ Death pushed the memory of Tom finding him in the hallway to the front of his brain. Harry was utterly mortified. He didn’t think he’d be able to look Tom in the eye ever again. He called Tom pretty! The whole situation was absolutely humiliating.

Death prodded forward another memory, this one of his detention with Dumbledore. It started with Harry writing lines, the banal sentence “I will respect my elders” until his hand started to cramp. At least this time he was writing with ink and not blood, and he was grateful that the line scarred onto his hand wasn’t as stupid. “I must not tell lies” could be mysterious whereas “I will respect my elders” made him sound like the delinquent the Dursleys had always said he was. He was many things, but a delinquent was not one of them. He didn’t commit minor crimes, he only committed major ones like breaking into Gringotts. He had standards.

At the end of his detention, Dumbledore offered him some tea, and Harry foolishly drank it, having not noticed Dumbledore slipping a few drops of a potion into his cup. Moody would have been so disappointed with Harry and his lack of vigilance. _Fortunately, it was only a mild compulsion potion, but still, you must be more careful._ Harry agreed with that. He would do anything to avoid a repeat of the scene from last night. His cheeks were burning just thinking about it. He’d have to apologize.

All of the other sixth year Slytherins were up and gone by the time Harry had actually woken up, and he quickly realized that he was running quite late for Charms. He ended up deciding to skip it altogether and visited the kitchens for a belated breakfast, a chat with the house-elves, and tea that he knew wasn’t contaminated. He watched them make it himself.

He waited outside the Charms classroom for the class to end, pulling Tom to the side as he exited. They walked to Ancient Runes together, with Harry nervous before he finally got the courage to speak. “Tom, I am so sorry about last night. I have no idea what came over me.”

“I have an idea,” Tom said darkly. “I think Dumbledore tried to drug you. He must have put something in your tea. I am very glad I found you when I did. Something bad, something _worse_ , could have happened to you.”

“What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it was, it seems like your body did a good job of flushing it out. Your symptoms last night were very strange, but you appear to be normal right now.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, that means that we don’t have any proof that Dumbledore attempted to drug you. It’ll be your word against his and I doubt anyone will believe you.”

“Wonderful. I will be much more careful from now on. But Tom? Thank you so much for helping me last night. I’m very grateful.”

“It was no problem at all. Like I said, I’m glad I was the one who found you.”

“Oh, by the way, I am going to be gone this weekend. Professor Slughorn gave me permission to leave so I can get things in order for this summer. There is a townhouse I’m planning on living in, but no one has lived there for decades. I’ll be leaving tomorrow after Potions and I should be back Monday morning.”

“Well, I hope you have a nice time. Come one, we should probably get to class.”

It was Thursday now, and Harry had his second meeting with Professor Merrythought. Professor Merrythought was at her desk grading essays when Harry entered her office. He waited silently for a few moments until she looked up and greeted him. “Good evening, Mr. Peverell. Are you ready to get started?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

“Have you thought about what you would like to do for your independent research project?”

“A bit. I got permission from Professor Slughorn to visit the library at my house to see if I could get any information. Hogwarts has a large library, but much of it is not exactly geared towards new research.”

“That’s quite a good idea. Many books that would be helpful for you would belong in the Restricted Section, but that’s a small part of the library. You’ll likely have a larger selection elsewhere. Let’s shelf this for now and we can talk about more on Monday after you have had the chance to browse. Did you have any questions about magical theory or the seventh year curriculum?”

“I was familiar with the majority of the seventh year material. As of right now, I don’t have any questions on the magical theory part, but I have to admit that I haven’t had a chance to read all of the books you gave me.”

“Alright. Since you have no questions, tonight we should go over shielding and protection charms. Can you tell me which ones you are already familiar with?’

“Well, the Shield charm is Protego. It has quite a few variants, but the strongest is Protego horribilis, which protects against nearly all magic, whereas Protego Duo can protect against magic as well as physical projectiles.”

“Very good. I’m going to teach you another shielding spell, one that, with some practice, you should be able to hold up continuously. It forms a sort of invisible armor around you that can repel most minor spells and most projectiles. The incantation is ‘Protego Personalem.’ The goal for learning this is for you to increase the strength of your magical core as well as improve your ability to adjust how much power you put into each spell. If you don’t control the about of energy you feed the spell, you can find yourself overtaxing your core. You want to feel your core and slowly pull out a thread of magic as you say the incantation. It’ll be hard the first few days but should get easier after a while. Magic is a muscle.” She demonstrated the wand motion, and Harry copied her. The spell felt silky as it settled on his skin. “I want you to hold the spell for three hours every day until Monday”

They spent the next hour or so practicing casting multiple Shield charms at once before Professor Merrythought sent him off to bed. He hadn’t held the charm she had shown him for long, and he was already feeling the strain on his core. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do any strenuous magic the next few days.

When it was finally Friday afternoon and he was done with his classes, he practically bounded to Slughorn’s office to pick up the Portkey that would take him to Gringotts. From there, a goblin would take him to the Peverell townhouse. In all honesty, Harry didn’t quite know what to expect. When he thought of wizarding magical townhouses, he thought of Grimmauld Place, which was _not_ a pleasant thought. Hopefully the Peverell home would be less dark and decrepit.

It turned out that the townhouse was called Hyssop Hall, was within walking distance to Horizont Alley, and was neither dark nor even the slightest bit dreary. In fact, there seemed to be far too many windows for the outside of the building, and somehow, the back door led to a massive garden with a pond and a small bit of forest at the far end.

The entire building was just gorgeous, managing to make white marble floors not feel cold through the judicious use of rugs, carpets, and fireplaces that were crackling merrily. The house was well taken care of, and Harry quickly learned that there was a veritable army of house elves who had been just waiting for a Peverell to come back home. They were led by a house elf named Nibsy, who proceeded to take Harry on a tour of the building he could now call home, which was a strange thought. Besides Hogwarts, Harry had never really had a home, a place of his own where he felt safe. Now, though, he had the massive building guarded by some of the strongest wards he had ever seen, and it was his.

Nibsy led him through the spacious halls, showing him the master suite, which had two attached offices, one for the lord of the house, and one for the lady. Nibsy pointed this out, along with the nursery, accompanied by not so subtle suggestions that Harry should find a wife and fill the home with numerous Peverell babies. Harry blushed, embarrassed, and tried to change the subject. The master bedroom itself though was beautiful, filled with a bed so large and soft that Harry felt like he was on a cloud. He didn’t want to get up, but Nibsy urged him along, taking him first to the dining room for supper, then finally to the library.

And what a library it was! Thousands upon thousands of books filled the shelves, with large and comfy armchairs interspersed throughout the stacks. Harry could almost hear the squeal of joy Hermione would have made if she had been able to see this wealth of knowledge. Harry thought it had been a bit wasted on him. If he was able to get back to his time, he’d make sure to bring Hermione there, though he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to ever get her to leave. He knew he was going to spend the rest of the weekend holed up in there, so he decided to get some sleep before he began looking for a topic.

His bed was gloriously comfortable, and he slept better than he had in a long time. It was nice sleeping alone in a room instead of being surrounded by the beds of people whose future selves would later try to kill him. It wasn’t exactly good for his peace of mine. But that night, with sheets that were divinely smooth, and a bed that was devilishly comfortable, he slept like the dead. He should know, after all, considering he had died before.

He ate a light breakfast in the morning before meandering his way to the library, where he quickly got overwhelmed by the sheer number of books. He had no idea where to begin. He decided to just grab a handful of general books on curses and see where that got him, but it was slow going. Eventually, he found a name that he recognized, though he wasn’t sure from where. Harry realized that the person was one of the people who had made a Horcrux, a certain Maricara cel Tradat, the person who had made the first Inferius from a bastardized version of the Imperius Curse. From what he knew of the curse, those turned into Inferi had to be burned for the curse to be destroyed, with the body being unrecoverable. He thought of Regulus, and how much Sirius had missed him, and how no one knew how much of a hero he was. Neither of their bodies would be buried in the family graveyard. Harry didn’t think Sirius would’ve had a problem with that, but Regulus most likely would’ve hated it. Harry had decided what to do. He was going to find a way to destroy the Inferius curse without destroying the body. Happy with his plan, he started searching the library for books that might be helpful.

***

Tom was a man who usually had a plan, and he currently did _not_ have a plan, much to his annoyance. He was glad that Harry was going to be gone during the weekend; it would give him time with his Knights to revamp his previous ideas for world domination, since quite a few things had changed. He needed some proper scheming time with his minions.

He accosted Orion before the group gathered in the Room of Requirement. He grabbed Orion by the chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “I am letting you back into the fold on probation only. If you dare betray me, I will skin you and leave you to die. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” Orion squeaked.

“Good boy.” Tom released Orion’s chin to pat him on the cheek. “We’re meeting tonight. Spread the word.” Orion nodded, and scurried off. Tom sighed happily. It felt nice to so feared and adored. He might keep Orion around just because his terror was entertaining, and Tom needed as many good things right now as he could get.

When the time for the meeting came, Tom swept in fashionably late, with his cloak billowing behind him dramatically, courtesy of a nifty little charm he had found. His Knights were standing at their chairs, waiting for him to sit first. He sat down gracefully, and magnanimously allowed the others to sit with a wave of his hand. The chair on his right, the one for Abraxas, remained empty.

“Good evening, everyone. There has been a change of plans. We are going to take down Grindelwald.” He paused for a moment as his underlings stared at him, shocked. “As much as I support his doctrine of Muggle subjugation and returning to pureblood values, he made an attack that not just killed one of our own but ended the Malfoy line. He needlessly spilled magical blood, in an attack that had no strategic value. The death of Abraxas must be avenged.”

“Are you sure you’re, well, able to defeat Grindelwald?” Avery asked. He cowered at the glare Tom sent him.

“Are you doubting my magical ability, Avery?” It was a rhetorical question, so Tom continued on before Avery could dig himself deeper into the hole he was currently making. “I’m not planning on gallivanting into a warzone later this weekend, Avery. I am not an idiot. We are going to weaken his support until he is vulnerable, and _then_ I will kill him. The first step is to besmirch his name. We should spread around to the Wizarding communities outside of Britain that Grindelwald is killing pureblooded magical children. I have also learned from Harry that Grindelwald used to be lovers with one Albus Dumbledore. Spreading this information, maybe in an article in the _Prophet_ , will have two effects, turning people against both Grindelwald for his relations with a Muggle-lover, and turning people against Dumbledore for consorting with Grindelwald. I would like you, Avery, to reach out to Bathilda Bagshot in Godric’s Hollow, to learn more about this. Apparently, she is Grindelwald’s aunt. Once we have the full story, we can publish it.”

Tom looked around the table at his minions. They were looking at him with adoring eyes. It felt nice to be powerful, and to be planning. He felt in control again. “Lestrange, you’re going to get in contact with your uncle who’s an Acolyte. If I remember correctly, he was friends with Lord Malfoy when they were in Hogwarts together. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get support from him. Black, you’re going to start dropping hints about Grindelwald being harmful to magical tradition with your family and other members of the British Wizarding nobility. I know you have other family in France and Italy, so I’d like you to speak with them as well. Nott and Rosier will be helping me analyze Grindelwald’s strategies and fighting styles. It will take time and coordination, but we will annihilate Grindelwald, and avenge Abraxas. I want you all to get started tonight, and we will reconvene Sunday night. Grindelwald does not stand a chance.”

Nott and Rosier stayed behind as everyone left. They had planning to do. They collected a stack of newspapers with articles on Grindelwald’s attacks, as well as finding names of people who fought against him and didn’t die. They’d have to track them down later and see if they could get more information from them. Around two, they decided to stop for the night and get some much needed sleep. They could continue in the morning.

The entire group reconvened Sunday afternoon to report back to Tom. Lestrange had succeeded in reaching his uncle, who had been a friend of Lord Malfoy’s when they were at Hogwarts together. He was very upset to hear about the death of Abraxas and was willing to consider aiding them. Black ended up not being a complete failure, and had sent a few letters to the right people, starting to whip up some righteous anger in the British pureblood community. Even those who were hellbent on wizard superiority didn’t think it was worth the lives of innocent schoolchildren.

Avery had heard back from Bagshot, who confirmed what Harry had said, and recommended getting in touch with one Aberforth Dumbledore to learn more. When the meeting was over, Avery lingered, looking uncertain and vaguely uncomfortable.

“What is it, Avery?” Tom snapped.

“Bagshot said that she had never spoken to any Peverell, much less a Harry Peverell. She couldn’t recall having a conversation with anyone who fit his description,” Avery said. That was interesting. While Harry had been evasive, deflecting questions and answering with omitted information, Tom hadn’t caught him in an outright lie like this. It begged the question of _how_ Harry knew about Dumbledore’s less than clean past. Harry didn’t seem like the type of person to use memory charms, especially since he himself pointed them in the direction of Bagshot. He would have to interrogate him when he returned. Harry was still so shrouded in mystery, and Tom was going to discover all there was to know about him.

He wanted to take Harry apart, examine all of the pieces, and put him back together again like the puzzle he was. He wanted Harry to be _his_ , to belong to him. He wanted Harry to look at him with the same gratitude and adoration he had that night Tom found him drugged in the hallway. He wanted to be the only person who got to hold Harry, who got to touch him, he wanted to own Harry, he wanted to never let him go. He wanted Harry, and Tom always got what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! I'm officially on winter break so I'll hopefully have more time to write. Taking lots of STEM courses at a good university is not the best if you want to have much in the way of free time...  
> Do y'all read any Marvel fanfics? I'm thinking about writing a HP/Marvel crossover fic so let me know if that's something you'd read.  
> Feel free to drop a comment! I love you all and I hope you're all staying safe, healthy, and sane!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Feel free to comment or give a kudos or whatever your heart desires. I'm going to try to get the next chapter up by next week. Thank you!


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